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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25042867">Shatranj</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luckyfirerabbit/pseuds/Luckyfirerabbit'>Luckyfirerabbit</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Castlevania (Cartoon)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, Getting to Know Each Other, Hurt/Comfort, Lesbian Sex, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Original Character(s), PTSD, Pining, Slow Burn (I think), Tags May Change, demisexual striga, soft gay shit, touch starvation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:49:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>181,608</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25042867</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luckyfirerabbit/pseuds/Luckyfirerabbit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, Striga and Morana fell in love in a fairy-tale castle...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Morana/Striga (Castlevania)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>325</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>168</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The year of some lord, 1387.</p><p> </p><p>The forested valley that lies along the border of the Kingdom of Hungary and Styria is mostly dark, not yet touched by the dim light of a rising quarter moon. It's quiet, too cold for crickets and too early in the night for anything else. Sparse clusters of torches from the remote towns break up the bleak blackness, the largest of which sits but a mile from the notional line between countries. What was once a little town had been fortified with heavy and high timber walls, simple towers that had someone watching from them every hour, day or night. The best protections that could be managed in such a remote area, which have now held for roughly sixty years.</p><p>Now, two hours after sunset, the fortified village is coming into its second phase of activity. Once the humans have finished their business and turned in for the evening, soldiers begin emerging, most of them with deathly pale skin and long, pointed ears, and talons. They take up their stations along the walls and in the towers and at the main gates for the first watch of the night.</p><p>The headman's house served as the officers' quarters, and the empty spaces in the wooden slats of the shutters belied the glow of firelight inside. Beyond the wooden door the officers are just dispersing to go about their duties, now properly armed and fully roused from their deep sleep by the sun's absence. Two will remain behind; one of them is a hulking mass of a woman with wild, raven hair, her frame almost too big for the chair she sits in. The other stands just beside her, another woman of considerably lesser size but comparable build, her hair partly tamed but still a spilling of tawny curls down the middle of her leather clad back. She has pointed ears as well, but not as long as the other's, and her fangs are much more visible, more of them anchored in her jaws.</p><p>"Got the day's reports, general." her accent is thick, not local. She waits for a nod of acknowledgment -the general is finishing off her first glass of blood- before setting down one of the rolls of paper she carries. "And this," the other she makes certain to hold in an obviously visible way, and with a particular smirk that makes the mess of freckles on her cheeks mesh together. "Is from the palace. The Lady Morana, I'd wager."</p><p>Sable brows lower over intense green eyes, then one arcs upward. "Spying on my missives again, dog?"</p><p>"<em>Augh</em>, I am <em>offended</em>," but by her tone she clearly isn't.</p><p>The general clears her throat before grinning, saying "Nothing offends you, Welsh."</p><p>Welsh inches her shoulders, nodding. "Oh aye, of course not, especially when <em>I'm</em> right. So, go on, Striga, open it up. Let's see how right I am."</p><p>Striga takes the scroll in her larger hands and eyes the seal, that of Styria, and then cracks the coin of wax with a push of her thumb. Welsh watches her eyes dart over the lines of finely drawn script, her grin steadily widening like a knife wound, serrated by her fangs. But, by the same token, the general's expression sours in equal measure, her brows drawing together in the middle and the already shadowy circles beneath her eyes darkening.</p><p>"Well?"</p><p>"...I'm being summoned to the palace."</p><p>Welsh's smile collapses, her entire face stretching with shock. "Oh? Any reason why?"</p><p>"All it says is my presence is required as soon as possible."</p><p>"Must be serious to pull you out so suddenly," her surprise is replaced with curiosity. "But surely we would've heard <em>something</em> by now if it was an emergency."</p><p>"Still, let's assume it is." though one wouldn't think her sincere by how calm she sounds.</p><p>"Should I arrange an escort for you?"</p><p>"Not necessary. Saddle my horse."</p><p>"Aye, general." and she's quick to excuse herself to fulfill the order, leaving Striga to prepare for the trip.</p><p>To Striga's satisfaction her horse is waiting outside, Welsh holding the reins of the massive animal. Leather and iron rattle mutely together as Striga pulls herself into the saddle, settling easily.</p><p>"You have command until I return, lieutenant. I expect monthly reports."</p><p>"Aye, provided you'll be gone so long." Welsh nods once. "So tell me, was I right?"</p><p>Striga chuffs, face neutral but her eyes telling. Then there's the littlest kink to the edge of her mouth, almost like a smile. "How do you do that if you're not spying on me?"</p><p>Welsh laughs curtly, passing the reins up into Striga's waiting hand. "Your kind and mine have a lot of likenesses, but my nose is better, and letters to you <em>from her</em> always <em>smell</em> different."</p><p>She scowls, seemingly puzzled. "Always?"</p><p>"Since we started keeping up with this place, I'd wager."</p><p>"...You're mad."</p><p>"True enough, but I'm nae wrong." and she holds a ridiculous, toothy grin until her superior rolls her eyes and grumbles. "You best be off, then, if you want to make the first refuge by dawn. Safe journey, general."</p><p>"Don't burn the place down while I'm gone."</p><p>"Oh, well then, why live?" Welsh tips back her head and laughs out loud, smacking the flank of the horse to send it on. Then she shouts after it, "Give my regards to the Lady Morana!"</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>(--)</em>
</p><p> </p><p>While it isn't properly winter, the great castle of Styria's ruling seat sits at a high enough elevation that flurries are the regular this time of year. The little flakes are whipped through the air by inconsistent gusts from the north, but aren't great enough in number to start sticking to the ground in earnest, even in the dead of night. That leaves the road leading up to the palace gates clear for the lone rider approaching. Said gates swing wide enough to allow Striga through, the hinges giving a sharp whistle as they're pushed shut again.</p><p>Striga guides her mount to a halt where an attendant waits to take the reigns, a human she doesn't recognize but didn't expect to, but was not surprised by seeing as it isn't uncommon for humans to work in the palace. When she dismounts she looks ahead and walks towards the open main entrance, and to the small woman waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Red hair, a veil, red irises that are impossible to forget or trust.</p><p>"Welcome home, general."</p><p>Striga pauses, looks her over, one brow lifting. "Lenore," more of a question than a greeting.</p><p>"So you <em>do</em> remember me?" she giggles sweetly. "How long has it been since you were last here? Thirty years?"</p><p>"Twice that, I believe." Striga responds, neutral. "What is going on, why was I called from my post?"</p><p>"Come with me, all will be explained." Lenore gestures with her hand, falling in line and walking beside the decidedly taller vampire into the palace. "Have you any needs, general? Are you hungry?"</p><p>"No, thank you." Perhaps she does, but it's hard to suss it out apart from the rising suspicion. Something about this is not right at all. She isn't certain exactly how, only that it is. And that is a precarious place to be. Striga grips the leather bound handle of her sword, to keep herself grounded.</p><p>Striga does not need Lenore's leadership to know where they're headed; as infrequently as she has visited the castle, Striga had a talent for remembering the layout of places even after having seen them only once. She knows full well that the staircase they ascend will take them up to the king's domicile. This only brings marginal comfort to her uncertainty, comfort that is pitifully short lived. It will take a moment, but it dissipates after she and Lenore enter what she remembers to be the king's council room.</p><p>The table is the same, the glass cabinets with a healthy supply of blood and glasses are where they were when she had last been here, there's a fire in the hearth just as those many years ago. What <em>is</em> different is the arrangement and the number of chairs that now sit about the table. And that Carmilla occupies one of them. Striga finds herself staring unconsciously, even as Lenore leaves her side to take a seat beside Carmilla. Now there is only one empty chair at the table, as the Lady Morana has comfortably claimed the third.</p><p>"What is this?" Striga says, unknowingly stopping Carmilla. "Where is the king?"</p><p>Carmilla is visibly annoyed, but it's temporary. An easy smugness comes over her face in the form of a grin. "The king is dead." she declares with a subdued pride. A part of her quietly relishes in the flicker of dismay in Striga's face, and wonders if she somehow knows Carmilla had been the one who killed him.</p><p>Striga's brow lowers. There are countless things she wants to say, questions, but only one manifests. "Why call me here, then?" Since she could have just as easily gotten the news from a messenger.</p><p>"Because, while I have the throne, I do not wish that this power be singular. I'm forming a council; Morana, Lenore, myself," that grin widens, softens in an uncanny way, "and you."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"You'll be commanding our military from here from now on."</p><p>Striga's hand has been on her sword this entire time, and the leather groans under the added pressure of her already throttling grip. "And what of our eastern border?"</p><p>"Morana will help you arrange for a replacement."</p><p>The muscles in Striga's jaw tighten, her teeth creaking against each other. "I have held that position for nearly sixty years, I cannot just abandon it like-"</p><p>"You are loyal to the throne, aren't you general?" Carmilla intercedes firmly, her back straightening reflexively in her chair and her icy blue eyes shimmering. "You swore fealty to Styria, to go where it needs you, correct?"</p><p>Striga's mouth hangs open, stopped with fangs exposed, and still visible when her teeth come back together. "I did." she replies.</p><p>"Well, now <em>I</em> sit on the throne. <em>I. Am. Styria.</em> And <em>I</em> need you <em>here</em>."</p><p>Striga's eyes narrow on her, meeting Carmilla's piercing gaze with her own, equally sharp.</p><p>"<em>We</em> ," she gestures widely with one hand in a horizontal sweep, "are the future of this nation, general, and <em>you</em> are a crucial part of it."</p><p>"I am a <em>warrior</em>. Not some seat warmer." Striga grinds out, her voice deep and rumbling from her chest.</p><p>"You're the finest warrior this kingdom has ever seen," Carmilla agrees readily, "so who better to lead our armies into this new era?"</p><p>Striga weighs the words, for what she isn't sure. Then "What if I refuse?"</p><p>"Of course, you're free to do so. However," Carmilla leans forward, propping on her elbows and looking rather somber. "I would highly advise against it."</p><p>Her eyes widen, the green shining toxic, the pupils slitted. "Is that a threat?" she hisses.</p><p>"To no more action than my authority allows; to refuse would violate your oath. You know what those consequences entail."</p><p>Striga will look at both Lenore and Morana in turn, a part of her wondering if maybe at least one of them had some reason and would question this absolute nonsense. But all three of them simply sit, looking back at her expectantly, with some breed of <em>hope</em> . They <em>all</em> want her to agree. She feels her expression twist into something harder, and the blossoming of her own hope; she hopes <em>-prays</em>- they all see the fury in her eyes.</p><p>If they can, however, neither of them appear to acknowledge it.</p><p>After a tense moment, Striga finally exhales, conceding. "Very well. I accept."</p><p>"Wonderful." Carmilla looks to physically relax as well. In a way, they all do. "Now come, have a seat, there's <em>much</em> to discuss."</p><p>Scowling, Striga rounds the table towards the only empty chair, beside Morana who is watching her. And she sees, and feels the intent behind the seething general's jerking of the chair more than a foot away from her before sitting.</p><p>The first meeting of what Carmilla calls the Council of Sisters lasts but a few hours, but to Striga it feels like the longest night of her life. A short eternity of feeling like an unwilling audience at best and simply a place holder at worst. The others make an honest effort to include her, give her ample opportunities to add to the conversation, but, in truth, what was there to say? What difference would it make? So she just sits, perpetually scowling, and surrenders the floor back to them.</p><p>"Perhaps we could go more in depth with these matters tomorrow, Carmilla?" Morana suggests. "The general has had a long journey, maybe she would be better able to contribute once she's had some proper rest."</p><p>Carmilla looks at her, quietly unconvinced, and then her gaze slides to the next chair. "General?"</p><p>"As a matter of fact," she sees a way out and means to take it, "I believe the Lady Morana is right, not that I need anyone to speak for me. Has the location of my quarters changed as well?"</p><p>"They're where they've always been." Carmilla sighs.</p><p>"Then if you will all excuse me." and it takes every once of her self control not to run out of the room.</p><p>The three of them wait for the racket of the door opening and closing -closing rather <em>forcefully-</em> to pass.</p><p>"That could have gone better." Lenore exhales. While she was far from afraid of Striga, she felt the tension in the room and has a terrible habit of holding it in herself.</p><p>"I certainly hope she doesn't intend to sulk like that forever." Carmilla scoffs as she stands up, stepping over to one of the curios to refill her glass.</p><p>"She needs time." Morana says. "You're asking a great deal of her."</p><p>"I'm afraid I don't follow." though it would be more accurate if Carmilla had said she didn't care. It would better match her tone.</p><p>"Imagine if someone told you that in order to preserve your throne you had to give it up."</p><p>"That's madness."</p><p>"Yet you all but commanded the general to do the same; you demanded her cooperation at the risk of dismissal and exile."</p><p>"I knew she wouldn't say no." Carmilla smirks as she retakes her seat, feeling smug again.</p><p>"Yes, especially after you held her sense of honor for ransom."</p><p>"Morana has a point." Lenore adds. "All things considered, she didn't really have a choice at all, so it's rather ridiculous to expect her to be happy about it."</p><p>"Alright, alright," she raises a hand in mock surrender, "you two can stop trying to make me feel like the villain now."</p><p>"We're not trying to make you feel like a villain," Morana gently rolls her eyes. "We're all going to have to make changes going forward if this alliance is going to function, one such change being <em>your</em> ability to take your sisters' feelings into account when making certain decisions. I'm not saying you need to coddle us, far from it, but it will make navigating these sorts of obstacles much easier. Now that the council is whole, we need to make time to cultivate our working relationship, all four of us <em>together</em>."</p><p>"And that means not <em>always</em> exploiting our weaknesses to get your way." Lenore adds, her tone knowing and cheeky.</p><p>Carmilla acknowledges them with a huff and busies her mouth with a drink to keep herself from saying what she's thinking, which is particularly caustic. Because, though she refuses to admit it aloud, they're both right. Yes, they all needed to make changes.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Just as with the council chamber, Striga needs no assistance finding her quarters in spite of the decades that yawned between her last visit and now. She skulks the entire way, hunched just so with her chin tucked and eyes set forward, her entire existence imposing. She's certain the few guards she passes on the way mentally flinch at her presence.</p><p>Down a flight of stairs, down one corridor, up another flight of stairs and into a hall that forms a circle that would come back to where she began. She follows it about half way, stopping at one of several doors that rank along the wall as one big hand pushes into a pouch on her belt. The stout iron key rattles against the scant few coins she has, and is then unceremoniously shoved into the lock in the door. Striga's dark brows skew when she finds that it wasn't actually locked. Makes sense, she thinks, and she rumbles to herself as she pushes through the door. There's no hesitation or remorse in the heavy handed way she shuts the door behind her.</p><p>
  <em>They expected you to stay.</em>
</p><p>A notion that is only reinforced as Striga takes in the state of things. She had expected the air to smell stale, feel still after years of the apartment being vacant, but there's little difference in it and what was outside, the outside she can spy through recently cleaned windows that she now eyes with a sort of contempt. The lightning glass is already lit, allowing her more than sufficient light to see not a speck of dust would be found anywhere, on anything. The hearth is loaded with seasoned wood, unlit and ready for use, and a fresh pitcher of water occupies a small table alongside an empty basin. The bed is made, sheets likely laundered but days ago. Perhaps the only comfort she finds in all this is that her bear skin rug is where she left it, stretched between the bed and the hearth, though it was also immaculately clean. She wonders if it still smells like a mixture of forest and ashes.</p><p>The late king had made this place for her, as one of his generals he said it belonged to her and her alone, yet she had never felt more unwelcome.</p><p>Scowling even now she starts going through the room and drawing the curtains, leaving her feeling less exposed, less vulnerable. Shutting in provided the illusion of security in unfamiliar territory. From there she crosses the floor without hesitation to the hearth, kneeling before it. She isn't as proficient in magic as most other vampires, but she knows a few practical spells, such as conjuring fire. The logs in the fireplace snap and crackle against a snarling burst of flame, and Striga watches it until she's satisfied it will stay lit. It isn't cold, not that she would feel it anyway, but the sounds are familiar, comfortable, and once she switches off the lightning glass, the lighting in the room is as well. Now this foreign feeling space is more like the fort in the valley, more like her post <em>where she fucking </em> <em> <b>belongs</b> </em>.</p><p>For a long while she paces the room, mentally reacquainting herself with it, trying to push down the mildest claustrophobia that's trying to settle in her ribs with rhythmic flexes of her hand around the handle of her sword. Part of her wants to hurl it through the window, or to destroy this entire apartment out right. She wants something -anything- to exert her will over that she might feel somewhat in control, because she feels powerless and that particular notion has never sat well with her. Her manic pacing stops when she notices the desk near the bed, her thoughts colliding together to form something coherent. Desks usually housed ink and paper, things for writing letters -yes, Welsh would need to know about this madness.</p><p>Only now does Striga see fit to dress down, but only partly. Her sword remains in place, like her armor, but she'll unwind her cloak from her shoulders, only to drop it on the bear rug as she walks passed it. She jerks the chair out roughly, legs squawking on the marble floor, and again after she sits down and attempts to scoot forward. It's not nearly big enough for her to sit at comfortably, not with her long legs. Again, for a brief instant, she wants to put something through a window, but swallows it down and forces herself to focus on the task at hand.</p><p>It takes all night to write one page that she is satisfied with, and even then she isn't entirely pleased. She knew essentially saying goodbye to your only friend and confidant was supposed to be difficult, but like this? None of the words were right, frankly, and she wanted to toss it in the hearth with the rest of the refuse she had produced over the last few hours. With a grumble she rolls it up, not having the patience to bother with sealing it now. As she stands up, stretching with several heavy, bone deep pops, Striga spies the waxing grayness of impending dawn at the foot of the curtains. Yes, sealing and sending letters can wait for tomorrow night. She needed to try to sleep.</p><p>Much like the letter, sleep won't come easily, and she knows it somehow. Her mind is unconsciously searching for things to do instead; taking extra time to unfasten her armor and lay it out as if she plans to immediately put it back on once she wakes, folding her clothes as she disrobes, again for the same reason. She puts more logs on the fire. When she finally accepts that there is simply nothing else to busy herself with, Striga sits down on the bear skin rug, covering herself with her cloak, and begins to mindlessly turn the simple gold band around her little finger. It's just enough of a distraction for the fatigue of the last couple nights to set in, to cloud her thoughts into submission.</p><p>Striga uses her cloak as a blanket, as she had for so very long, never mind the heaping stack of plush furs and sheets on the bed. No, she didn't need any of that, not when this was so familiar. Not when this made sleep a little easier.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>(II)</em>
</p><p>Everything for Morana is a matter of routine, everything outside of her work, that is. Her nightly preparations could be set to a clock and mapped out, measured, and she did it all unconsciously. From century to century, from one court to the next, Morana had stayed the same in the manner with which she conducted herself. This was in no small part due to the volatile nature of her work; as a master tactician she needed to be ready to change course at a moment's notice, and there was no predicting what one day laid before her in correlation to the next. For Morana, there had to be a balance, or something resembling a mostly even give and take between personal and professional. What she did behind closed doors was totally under her control, even when the matters at the council table changed as suddenly as the wind.</p><p>Her apartment is strictly kept in hauntingly immaculate order, despite the fact that it could second as one of the castle's smaller archives. One wall is nothing but book shelves that reach to the ceiling, warranting a ladder, and each volume had its proper place that it was always returned to when she no longer had need of it. Her personal desk is it's own sort of library as well, though smaller, and equally organized with everything meticulously in its place. Even the few articles she needed for her first order of business are set out intentionally, in it's own space. The other walls are full of frames and fine wooden mountings; maps and landscape paintings depicting foreign horizons and seashores are arranged just so beside mounted weapons from across the known world -some are decorative, gifts from dignitaries, but others have clear signs of use.</p><p>Morana makes lists in her head as she dresses, reminding herself of all the things that need her attention tonight, arranging them in order of importance and time sensitivity. There are only so many hours in a night and she tries her best to make efficient use of each one. There are documents to draft, the monthly expenses to finalize, and, of course, the meeting with the general...</p><p>Her slender fingers slip in their attempt to fasten one earring, her concentration briefly broken. She smirks to herself, shaking her head before trying again, this time succeeding. She's being ridiculous, she knows this, but she can't help herself. In part, she doesn't really want to. She had been patient, <em> very </em> patient. It has been... <em> so </em> long, so Morana feels, in a way, entitled to the little excitement she's experiencing.</p><p>Her hands fumble with the other earring as well, this time due to the unexpected knock on her door. She calls out permission to enter, sensing who it is, and then goes back to her task.</p><p>"Oh good, you're almost ready." Lenore sounds casually pleased, as if she hadn't had any expectations to begin with. "Carmilla is a little slow getting up this evening, so she's given us leave to start without her. I think she expects this...negotiation to be rather...lengthy."</p><p>"Does she? Perhaps that means she's actually heeding my advice now." Morana sighs with the smallest chuckle. "Perhaps it's for the best that it's just us in the beginning, then. Carmilla is too eager to <em> push </em>things."</p><p>"True enough." Lenore allows herself a seat at the large, round table in the middle of the apartment's common area. "And I think it's safe to say our dear general is <em> not </em> of the mind to be pushed."</p><p>"Yes, and water is wet." They both laugh. Now that she feels presentable to her standards, Morana grabs the few papers from her desk and tucks them under her arm. "Let's be on then."</p><p> </p><p>Morana knows the way and Lenore is content to follow, and they go back and forth with unrelated conversation as they go -Morana intends to forgo using the council chamber, her reasoning being that something less formal might make all this go more smoothly. They catch a servant on the way and arrange for some blood and food to be brought up. Arriving at the general's door, naturally, Morana knocks and announces herself and Lenore. No answer. She'll try again, with more insistence, and still no response.</p><p>Lenore giggles quietly, "You don't think she skipped out on us, maybe jumped out the window?"</p><p>"You're ridiculous." but Morana is smiling too, so not <em> too </em> ridiculous.</p><p>"I've heard rumors she can turn into a giant raven, maybe she flew away!" Lenore even goes so far as to imitate flapping wings with her hands.</p><p>"<em> Stop </em>." any more and she wouldn't be able to keep her composure. Morana then tries the door, visibly surprised to find it unlocked when she pushes and it gives. Through the small space they can see it's black as night inside. "Oh...do you really think she'd sneak out?"</p><p>"I don't know, but I <em> do </em> know Carmilla's going to have a <em> fit </em> if she did." she's trying to cover up her laughter with her hand, partly failing. "We'd better take a look."</p><p>Vampires can see perfectly fine without light, even in total darkness, but everything is in varying shades of gray that correlate to their proximity to objects. So the two of them are far from searching around blindly for the switch that controls the lightning glass. There's a dull hum before the entire room is bathed in light. Once their eyes adjust, Morana and Lenore reflexively look towards the bed, both making the same surprised and concerned expression at finding it clearly empty, and then their faces morph to show more surprise than concern when they hear the stirring and grunting mere seconds after the lights came on.</p><p>"And she slept on the floor." Lenore says aloud, not in a derogatory way, more so amused.</p><p>Striga twists up and around, half sitting and half propped up on one palm. Her hair is a wild mess, more so than usual, and her mouth is kinked in a toothy snarl as she squints through the light. She grumbles and shifts, sitting properly so she can pull one big hand down her face while the other holds her cloak to her naked body. She starts speaking in her mother tongue, some Slavic dialect as she simply wasn't awake enough to remember Latin, but you didn't need to understand the language to know she was complaining.</p><p>"Do pardon the intrusion, general," Morana apologizes. She's tucked her chin to avert her eyes, but proceeds all the same towards the big table much like her own to set down her paperwork. "We <em> did </em> knock, but there was no answer."</p><p>Striga replies as she stands up, again in her own language, rough and sluggishly aggressive. "<em> I know, because I was ignoring you </em>."</p><p>Morana takes a seat and throws her softest possible tone. "<em> Then please excuse our concern. Next time we will be sure to let you continue resting, if possible. </em>"</p><p>Striga's head whips around to look at her, shocked to hear Morana speaking her own tongue back at her. Then those wide green eyes narrow on her, on that smug smirk that she makes no effort to conceal. Striga bares her teeth again and goes about her business, dropping her cloak as she steps over to the pitcher and basin with the intent of splashing her face with water to wake herself up more fully.</p><p>"General!" Lenore gasps, but certainly not in disgust.</p><p>Striga hasn't a care to give to their reactions; after all, if they weren't above coming in here uninvited but offended by her using <em> her own room </em> as she pleased, well, they knew where the door was.</p><p>Lenore can't help that she's a predator and her eyes are drawn by movement -that pale, silvery skin is <em> extremely </em> eye-catching, and she certainly can't help that it gets her into less than appropriate circumstances, such as now. Mind you, she looks away almost as quickly as she had gathered the nerve to stare, but that doesn't stop the scandalous flutter in her chest. A flutter that morphs into an almost euphoric thrum when she looks across the table, remembering that she and Morana are cut from a similar cloth.</p><p>Morana hadn't turned her head, her peripheral vision is so good that she didn't have to, but she certainly wanted to, and allowed her eyes to betray her for a second or two. It's both out of reflex to track a moving object but also a low, long simmering desire, but neither of which are enough to overrule her sense of decorum and respect completely; Striga deserved better than to be ogled. When her eyes return to the work in front of her, her gaze almost immediately flits upward, catching Lenore's. What the hell was she making such a face for? Like she's keen to a secret? Morana just scowls at her.</p><p>"Do you need to step outside? Compose yourself?" Lenore teases quietly.</p><p>"Now is not the time for this." Morana hisses.</p><p>"But you-,"</p><p>"<em> Enough. </em>"</p><p>Lenore manages to get herself together by the time Striga comes to the table, now fully dressed.</p><p>"Who do I need to speak with to send a message?" Striga sits down heavily, the chair creaking under her. She sets the rolled paper on the table, still not sealed.</p><p>"I can take care of that for you, general. I have several things to send out, so I will just add it to the others." Morana reaches for what she assumes is the letter, hesitating until Striga nods.</p><p>"Thank you." a strange softness to her tone. She lounges back in her chair, hands in her lap so she can turn the ring on her finger. "So what is this about that it couldn't wait until I woke in my own time?"</p><p>"We need to discuss a successor to your post, as was mentioned last night. I have with me the officer registry for the entire army, so you can have your pick of candidates."</p><p>Without missing a beat, "I've already made my decision."</p><p>"Oh?" Morana and Lenore exchange the same surprised look.</p><p>"My second, Lieutenant Welsh."</p><p>"I...am afraid I'm not familiar. Are they in the registry?"</p><p>"Doubtful. I commissioned her myself."</p><p>"Who was paying her wages?"</p><p>"Does it matter?" one sable brow rises. She sees the expectant look on Morana's face and realizes it does, at least to <em> her </em>. "I was." she explains. "What?"</p><p>Morana quickly shakes her head, "Nothing, nothing, that's just...highly unusual." Now she's going through her papers, looking for a blank one and the piece of charcoal she'd brought. "So what else can you tell us about Lieutenant Welsh?"</p><p>"...That I want her to take up my post?" Her Latin was plain enough, right?</p><p>"I think Morana means more so in regards to her experience." Lenore elaborates, knowing Morana can't write and talk at the same time sometimes.</p><p>"I absorbed her mercenary company into my division during the most recent expansion, they've been under my command ever since. Before that, I honestly couldn't tell you much about her earlier career because she simply refuses to tell me, but she has more than proven herself to me and I trust her implicitly."</p><p>"That's...approximately seventy years, and not once have I heard of this person?" Now Morana's going through the registry, inch by inch, refusing to believe she had missed something.</p><p>"You don't believe me?"</p><p>"It's not that, I'm just baffled that there is no record of this." Because Morana is thorough at her best and obsessive at her worst and this is ridiculous. "In any case, you have no argument from me," she resigns herself with a little huff, "and I'll be sure to draft up the orders once Carmilla has had a chance to go over them. Any thoughts on the matter, Lenore?"</p><p>"Not at the moment, no. Then again, this isn't my forte."</p><p>Striga's eyes switch from Morana to Lenore and back again, curious. "Must this be unanimous? I thought military matters were my responsibility?"</p><p>"They certainly are," Lenore nods, because Morana is still writing something. "But it's also a matter of border security which, in some way, is a concern for all of us."</p><p>"Could you strike down my recommendation?"</p><p>"Carmilla reserves the right to make unilateral decisions like that, the rest of us have to make a convincing argument, but I don't foresee that being the case here. It's not so much that you're debating for her permission, <em> or ours </em> , it's more so for us all to be on the same page. Especially for Carmilla; she <em> is </em>the queen, after all."</p><p>"Ah, I see." Striga eventually nods, appearing to relax.</p><p>Lenore chuckles. "You're so ready to believe we don't trust you, aren't you?"</p><p>"Excuse me?"</p><p>The younger looking vampire shifts in her chair, partly facing Striga, and her expression softens from humor to a certain vulnerability. "You can be honest, I doubt we'll be offended. We're working together now and we need to be candid about these things."</p><p>Striga just glares back at her, part of her sensing a trap.</p><p>"Or maybe it isn't that, maybe <em> we </em> haven't earned <em> your </em> trust yet?"</p><p>Morana's hand pauses and her eyes rise to look across the table. Lenore's doing what she does best, and it's partly terrifying to see her in action. Sometimes Morana thinks she's just too damn good at it.</p><p>"You're the expert, Striga, <em> you </em> are the military authority of the council, <em> you </em>have been out in the field for decades while the three of us have been so comfortable here, so I can imagine it seems terribly rude for us to ask you to do your job and then immediately start questioning your actions as if we know better."</p><p>There is visible surprise on Striga's typically stern face. However that initial suspicion hasn't much changed. If anything it has grown. Was Lenore one of those vampires that could read minds?</p><p>"Am I close?" she smiles, holds the general's gaze. She knows she's struck a nerve, gotten under the armor, so to speak, but she likes to let others believe they have some control. "Then let me ask for this opportunity to earn a portion of your trust; tell me what you know about your lieutenant, and when it comes to discuss it with Carmilla, I will support you."</p><p>Striga's brows go uneven again and she chuffs. "Even if you disagree with me? Even if everything I tell you is the biggest pile of horse shit I can conjure up?"</p><p>"I will, mainly because you have no real reason to lie to me. You won't gain anything from it." She laughs, sounding like she hadn't meant to. "I'm trusting you to tell me the truth, while you trust me to have your back. How does that sound?"</p><p><em> Like a deal with the devil </em>. She thinks to herself. If Lenore is a telepath, let her hear it. It still sounds suspicious, Striga feels it in her gut that it's too good to be true. Then again, perhaps Lenore is right; trust is earned, given on the chance that it will be destroyed. And in that respect, they are meeting in the middle.</p><p>"And what does the Lady Morana say to this?" Striga asks.</p><p>Morana is finished with whatever she was writing, laying down the charcoal and folding her hands in her lap. "I make a personal effort to remain objective about matters of which I am not proficient, so once I have all the facts in order, I will put my support behind what I believe is the most effective choice. So, the more information I have, the more likely I am to be on your side."</p><p>"Hm," Striga lilts her head. "Hard to argue with that. Very well." and just as she opens her mouth to continue, hear ears pick up the faintest whine of hinges. The door to her apartment had been left ajar, and when she looks up, Carmilla is striding through it. Thankfully, a servant with pitchers of blood and some food is coming in right behind her.</p><p>"Sounds like everyone is getting along rather well this evening. Good." she sounds genuinely pleased, doubly so when she realizes everyone's attention is now focused on <em> her </em>. "What have I missed?"</p><p>"You're just in time, actually. Striga was just going to tell us all about her replacement." Lenore says sweetly, just shy of laying it on too thick.</p><p>"Fabulous, although I hope none of you are against the idea of a drink before we get into the thick of it."</p><p>Tonight's gathering of the Council of Sisters is decidedly more productive and relaxed for all parties involved. Striga feels like the others are actually listening, that her agency is real, and it's strangely comforting. As promised, Lenore did what she needed to show her support, though Striga wasn't too ready to believe it was all genuine. Truthfully, she isn't sure if she would <em> ever </em> be able to completely trust her.</p><p>Morana is diligent in presenting and analyzing the facts, which Striga is surprised how most of them play in her favor. More accurately, that Carmilla seems to agree with her and Morana's general reasoning behind it all. She had expected at least a small argument on the matter in one way or another, but there was none, and in the end Carmilla would approve of all of it. It made for a refreshingly short meeting.</p><p>However, even after Carmilla and Lenore excuse themselves to tend to their own business -Lenore making sure Morana sees the teasing wink when she leaves- Morana remains as there are a few more articles she needed to go over with Striga. It primarily consists of the roster for the palace's guard rotations, as well as upcoming reviews regarding several of Styria's outposts throughout the kingdom.</p><p>"Do you have a map of the outpost locations with you?"</p><p>"I do." Morana's filing through the papers again.</p><p>"Could I keep it?"</p><p>"Of course." she had several more, so there's no reservation in passing it to her.</p><p>Striga looks it over, studying it closely for several seconds. "How soon can I leave?"</p><p>"Pardon?"</p><p>"I mean to look into this myself."</p><p>Morana blinks at her, briefly derailed. "I... well, perhaps tomorrow night, that should give me enough time to arrange your escort."</p><p>"I travel faster when I'm alone, besides," Striga sets the map aside and puts her full attention across the table. "I don't want them to know I'm coming. I want to see how they manage operations without an audience, without a chance to cover up any mistakes."</p><p>"Ah, I see. Well, in that case, I would still ask that you wait until tomorrow, at least. Carmilla will want to know about this and if she's going to raise hell about it, I'd rather she get it out of her system before you go." she looks to the general, obviously curious. "You know this will take weeks?"</p><p>"I do, but it will be worth while. Styria will be better for it."</p><p>Morana actually smiles. "Indeed."</p><p>"Is there anything else we need to discuss?"</p><p>"Not at the moment, thank you for your time, general." Morana stands up, stretching just enough, and starts to gather all her things. "Should you have any other thoughts on the matter, or questions, you're welcome to visit my chambers."</p><p>"I will."</p><p>"And...again, I apologize for the earlier intrusion."</p><p>"Apology accepted, though I would ask you not to make a habit of it, and that any further meetings be relegated to the council room."</p><p>"Ah, yes, of course. Oh, speaking of which, I will be arranging an appointment with the tailor for you."</p><p>Striga makes a face. "What for?"</p><p>"You'll need more clothes, formal wear."</p><p>"I say again, what for?"</p><p>"For formal occasions, of course."</p><p>Striga cringes and groans in disgust.</p><p>"But it can wait until you return." she wants to laugh, but reins it in to a little smile. "Good evening, general."</p><p>"Good evening."</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>(--)</em>
</p><p>Leaving the general's quarters and entering the hallway, a tangible wave of relief washes over Morana. She takes a deep breath and exhales fully, the sound of it echoing through the empty corridor as she goes. Her steps are only a little hurried as she feels a real need to be back in her own room, her own element, behind closed doors at the very least. Had putting on a front like that always been so damn exhausting? No, of course not, not possible...</p><p>"<em> So </em>,"</p><p>Morana jumps. She actually <em> jumps </em>, something she has never done, and can't help but stop where she is, eyes screwed shut so she doesn't have to accept that reality for a moment.</p><p>Lenore had been there when Morana turned the corner, but had obviously gone unseen. "My god, you really were distracted." She stifles a chuckle, but poorly.</p><p>"Do <em> not </em> do that." Morana hisses.</p><p>"I didn't mean to startle you." Lenore still has the remnants of a giggle in her voice, seeing the scowl on Morana's face making it harder to hide. "How did the rest of the meeting go?"</p><p>Morana sighs, seeming to recompose herself as she starts walking again. The click of Lenore's heels joins her own. "As well as can be expected."</p><p>"As well as you <em> wanted </em>?"</p><p>Morana side-eyes her. "As closely as you were lingering, you know the answer to that."</p><p>"And I'll admit, I'm only a <em> little </em> surprised. Between your patience and <em> her </em> not having clothes on,"</p><p>"Lenore,"</p><p>"I swear I could <em> hear </em> your pupils dilate,"</p><p>"You could <em> not </em>."</p><p>"And did you see her shoulders? Well, of course you did, how could you not?" Then she sighs dreamily, arms crossing, in a way hugging herself. "Broad enough to build a castle on."</p><p>"<em> Lenore </em>," it sounds like a warning this time, a cat's cautionary growl.</p><p>"But I bet the only things you want to erect there are your <em> thighs. </em>" The laugh rising up from her stomach is about to fly out, but her reflexes are fast enough to put a hand over her mouth in congress with the frustrated, decisive crack of Morana's heel against the floor as she stomps to a stop. Looking back at her, Lenore sees the vicious wideness of her eyes, the pitch slit of her pupils, and the tight bulge of the muscles in her jaw.</p><p>"<em> Enough </em>."</p><p>Lenore simply nods and collects herself, muttering a sincere but tiny "Sorry." and they continue on their way. Lenore will humbly request, in her meekest voice, to join Morana in her room when they arrive, and Morana feels like it's against her better judgment to allow it. But she does it anyway, because, in this respect, Lenore is the only one she can really talk to.</p><p>Morana goes to her desk and sets down her paperwork, filing it all into separate stacks before sitting down. She senses Lenore behind her, feels her move about the room, likely trying to decide where to put herself. Morana hates it when she sits anywhere that isn't a chair or the bed; it's probably taking so long because the younger vampire is weighing whether or not to test her further. Eventually she hears the quiet motion of furniture, chair legs on the floor, and Lenore brings a seat beside the desk, just within Morana's peripherals.</p><p>For a long moment they simply sit, silently occupying the same space.</p><p>"No more teasing." Lenore says softly. "Talk to me. Even if it's for no other reason than getting it out of your head."</p><p>Morana shrugs, hands in her lap as she manages the closest thing to a slouch she can stand.</p><p>"I felt like a fool in there tonight."</p><p>Lenore cocks one rosy brow. "Really? Were we in the same meeting? I thought you conducted yourself as professionally as ever."</p><p>"But I had to <em> try </em> ." and there's effort behind the admission because she feels like she's telling on herself. "How can I be expected to do my part to run this country if I'm so damn distracted? And I will be expected to work <em> closely </em> with her! For the foreseeable future!" and the last bit sounds like a lamentation.</p><p>"Yes, that's true." Lenore nods. "In time the two of you will be Carmilla's hands, you will manifest her will."</p><p>Morana looks at her flatly. "I certainly hope this isn't your attempt to comfort me."</p><p>"Don't worry, it isn't, we're just getting started." she waves one hand dismissively. "But I thought this is what you wanted, you wanted her <em> here </em>."</p><p>"I know, I know." Morana tips her head back, brow furrowed. "It still is...but I sense it's all falling apart."</p><p>"Why? Because our good general didn't splay you out on the table the moment you two were alone? Come now, Morana, you're smarter than that. The last two nights have amounted to the most time the two of you have <em>ever</em> spent in the same room, yet here you are fretting as if you're on the verge of divorce. If I might be frank, I believe this to be very much unlike you."</p><p>Morana sits with those words a while, staring through the window ahead of her, out into the mountains and the night surrounding the castle. She takes a breath, not that she has to. It's a stabilizing gesture. "You're right. I'm over-thinking this. All of it. God, I must seem like a silly child."</p><p>"Only a little." Lenore smirks. "But these aren't common circumstances for you, are they? As versed as you are in...well, damn near everything, this isn't an area of even <em> your </em> expertise. You can't find a solution to your problem in a history book or political treatise, there's no guide, and I think that <em> really </em> bothers you."</p><p>Morana scowls, says nothing.</p><p>"Striga is a variable you have <em> no control over </em>, so you're practically blind. You're at your greatest disadvantage because you think you can't predict or influence any of this. And to make matters worse-,"</p><p>"Do you have to?" Morana sneers.</p><p>"You know next to nothing about her. You don't even know what sort of woman she's attracted to...if she's attracted to women -or anyone- at all."</p><p>Morana's grimace softens, stretches, and her eyes widen. "...Oh my god."</p><p>"Hmm?" Lenore sees this new expression and finds herself puzzled. "What is it?"</p><p>"All these years, not <em> once </em> did I stop to think... <em> oh my god </em>." Morana raises her palm to press it against her forehead.</p><p>Lenore blinks at her, momentarily speechless. Morana, the woman who thinks of everything, who makes lists in her sleep and could ruin a handful of kingdoms on a whim...made an <em> assumption </em> , and held onto it like an absolute truth for nearly a century, based on <em> nothing </em>.</p><p>Morana's hand pulls downward, sliding over her eyes and hiding them as her chin drops. "Lenore?" she whimpers.</p><p>"Hmm?"</p><p>"How much do you love me?"</p><p>"Like the sister I never had."</p><p>"Would you do anything for me?"</p><p>"Almost."</p><p>"Kill me before I embarrass myself further." Morana laughs at herself, the sound pitiful and pouting. "And remember me as I was."</p><p>"As what, Sapphic and hysterical? Pull yourself together."</p><p>Morana's scowling again, pushing down all those awful, conflicting and messy feelings as she pinches the bridge of her nose between two fingers, mindful of her own claws so close to her face. She can feel Lenore's eyes on her, and part of her just wants to crawl into a hole and hide for a decade or two.</p><p>Lenore sighs after a moment, her face soft with sympathy. "Are you ready for my attempt at reassurance now?"</p><p>"Are you sure you're finished with drawing and quartering me?"</p><p>"It's not <em> my </em> fault that facts are humiliating sometimes." she chuffs. "So do you want it or not?"</p><p>Morana's hand drops back into her lap. "Very well." she exhales.</p><p>Lenore shifts in her seat, arranging herself a little closer to Morana's desk that she might prop herself on her elbow. She needed to be closer, able to make eye contact. "Have you ever wondered why I despise playing <em> shatranj </em> with you?"</p><p>"Because you're bad at it." Morana says like it's a painfully obvious answer.</p><p>"But do you know why I'm bad at it?" Lenore waits, watches the little tells across her sister's face that show she's thinking, and then answers for her when she feels it's been long enough without a response. "I lose patience with you."</p><p>"Oh? Really?"</p><p>Lenore nods. "You play the long game, you play it exceptionally well, and it drives me insane. I honestly believe you aren't so much focused on winning as you are making certain that I <em> lose </em>."</p><p>"To a point, it's true." the littlest smirk. "Crushing your enemy's morale is an integral part of any effective strategy."</p><p>"I'll keep that in mind." Lenore chuckles. "But there's still a reactionary element to the way you play, isn't there?"</p><p>"Of course. I have to adjust my plans accordingly to every move you make and, after a fashion, anticipate you."</p><p>"And, again, you're exceptional at that. But you still have to wait for me to make a move, and as good as you are, half of it is still guesswork. Well? That's where you're sitting right now; you're playing <em> shatranj </em> and your opponent has yet to move. It's leaving you idle, waiting with all your perfect schemes for a cue to do something, but your opponent hasn't even put their pieces on the board. It's driving you crazy, and you feel like the game is already over because you can't foresee how you'll win."</p><p>Morana side-eyes her again. "I'm still waiting for this reassurance you mentioned."</p><p>"Well, just like you, I have to do a little frame work." Lenore turns in her chair, now propping her chin on the heel of her palm. "You're too focused on a half empty board to realize what an advantage it actually is." and she waits, watching Morana's face. She looks like she's both offended and morbidly curious, which is quite the combination. "There's a clear plan of action in front of you, but you've been letting your lady parts do a lot of your thinking lately."</p><p>"Explain yourself before I throw you out." Morana grumbles.</p><p>"It's like you said at last night's meeting; this is going to take time. You have to play the long game, but you also have the chance to set up your opponent's side of the board. You have an opportunity to teach them the game, and at the same time, learn their tells."</p><p>"I refuse to manipulate her into this." Morana snips.</p><p>"That's not what I'm suggesting." Lenore groans and rolls her eyes. "Try being her <em> friend </em> , for god's sake. You're not going to get anywhere with anything until the two of you learn to look at each other as <em> people </em> and not positions -that is, <em> political </em> positions." and she can't help the suggestive, toothy smile that cuts across her mouth when Morana thins her eyes. "You'll learn everything you need to know in order to move forward. Mind you, there's still no guarantee you can win the game,"</p><p>"There is risk in every campaign." An unfortunate truth, to be sure.</p><p>"But is the risk worth taking?"</p><p>Morana takes a deep breath, feeling her anxiety beginning to taper off, much to her own surprise. For all of her nonsense, Lenore was right on many points. Not just in displaying the facts, but her theory is sound. Morana had missed obvious answers because she had gotten away from herself, allowed her emotions free reign, which is not something she is accustomed to. But now, having a fresh pair of eyes to help her sift through the knots of her dilemma, she can see the threads much more clearly.</p><p>"Yes." Morana answers with quiet confidence. "It is."</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><span class="u"> Author's Note: </span> Lots of headcanons are going into this, considering how little we actually know -lore wise- about the Council of Sisters. And, while this is ultimately a story about two people falling in love, there's still going to be a cubic crap ton of my signature storytelling/world building, because I can't do short and sweet. And there's gonna be a lot of meetings, just putting it out there. In the early chapters, it's the vehicle for a lot of the interactions between Morana and Striga, until they start getting a little closer. Hope that's not a problem. Feedback is super important right now, so any little bit you can offer is always appreciated. If nothing else, if you're enjoying it so far, feel free to say so or hit that Kudos button.</p><p> </p><p>Last note: most of 14th century western Europe spoke various forms of Latin and Latin was the "official" scholarly language -so while we're reading English, tell your brain it's Latin. And any time anyone is speaking in another language aside from "Latin" the dialogue will be italicized while the quotations are standard. Also, there are likely going to be several major historical events mentioned throughout the story, they are most likely not going to line up perfectly with their recorded dates. Just chalk it up to being fiction and enjoy it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Morana found Striga's abrupt absence to be a blessing, much to her own surprise. Everything was back to something like normal, something she was used to, and it left her mind free and clear to simply <em>think</em><span>. To examine the situation with fresh eyes, so to speak, as Lenore's metaphor from their now nights ago conversation had been strangely inspirational. Not that Morana would ever tell her that, not that she would have to as Lenore was certain to take credit in one way or another anyhow. In any case, whenever she wasn't absorbed with her usual duties, Morana devoted the entirety of her focus to setting up the board.</span></p>
<p>Which would prove to be a unique challenge in and of itself.</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana had been a member of multiple royal courts over the course of her long life, which would suggest that the fine points of socialization and building, at the very least, cursory relationships with people would be a well honed skill. But her case is a rare one, as this simply isn't true. Not to be misunderstood, Morana's execution of etiquette across several cultural spectrums is impeccable. She could make herself look at home in numerous countries across the old world and fool anyone into thinking she was native to the place, but as far as fostering alliances and something resembling </span>
  <em>friendship</em>
  <span>? That, unfortunately, is a skill she has woefully neglected, mostly due to lack of opportunity than desire, but a lack of desire altogether was still an element. No, frivolously making nice -not that it should be said that this endeavor was frivolous- is more Lenore's forte, and Morana is reluctant to admit that she might have to yield to her sister's guidance yet again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span> If Morana's apartment can be described as orderly and pristine, the only words applicable to Lenore's is </span>
  <em>controlled chaos</em>
  <span>. Everything is in order, to be sure, but that order is privy only to Lenore, and to anyone else it just seems hectic. But there's a method to the madness, and Lenore has her living quarters arranged just so, not only for herself, but for the modest menagerie of animals she keeps. Each corner of the room is set up as some sort of miniature habitat for her numerous pets, leaving just enough room for her own bed and belongings.</span>
</p>
<p>"How old are you, again, Morana?" Lenore turns her head just enough to see her, cutting a smug but strangely sympathetic smile. Combined with the curious lift of one brow, it's an interesting turn of face.</p>
<p>Morana scowls softly, shifting in her seat at the large common table. Naturally she doesn't want to answer, partly because she hasn't the slightest inkling what that has to do with this, and partly because she knows the light-hearted lecture that's coming behind whatever answer she would give. So, for the time being, she's content to just meet Lenore's gaze and hope her sister can read her disfavor of the question.</p>
<p>Lenore's smile widens and she gives a little, breathy laugh, turning back to the bird on its perch in front of her. It's an eagle-owl, one of three siblings that she keeps, and it's spotted and tawny feathers are all ruffled up as Lenore runs her fingers gently through them. It chirps and clicks, big eyes fluttering in what one could only assume is approval. When she finishes the animal stretches its wings and shakes, shrieking. It cocks its head, then twists it smoothly to look at Morana before shrieking again.</p>
<p>Morana feels a flicker of tension in her ribs. The color of the owl's eyes match Lenore's. In fact all the animals, save for the one raven Lenore named Bartholomew, had eyes that mimicked their mistress'. Though Lenore had never alluded to such a thing, Morana had always sensed they were charmed somehow. She could never be certain, but she could always be cautious.</p>
<p>"Old enough." she says eventually.</p>
<p>"So, suffice to say, you're a grown woman," Lenore presents her forearm to the owl, which promptly reaches out with its talons to take hold and roost there, "and you still don't know how to make friends?"</p>
<p>"Is this the cost of your council now, Lenore? Ridicule?"</p>
<p>"A little ribbing never hurt anyone. Besides, I think I deserve a little fun out of this, at the very least, all things considered. No one does anything for free, after all." it's a neutral response, no hint of malice or pettiness, just sounds like business. She comes to sit at the table with Morana, just beside her, turning her chair to face her sister and crossing her legs. Lenore brings her occupied forearm to her chest, the owl seeming to settle against her as she starts to stroke its head. "So what's the trouble now?"</p>
<p>"You essentially answered that for yourself just now." Morana sighs, resigned.</p>
<p>"Oh come now, it's not as complex as you think it is. This isn't warfare. But...that's part of the problem for you, isn't it? Not so cut and dry as all that, too much gray space?"</p>
<p>
  <span> "Hmm." a little nod. Too many variables, too little information. Morana could anticipate actions on a battlefield, be it in person or on a map, but </span>
  <em>feelings </em>
  <span>are another matter. There's no way to predict that, not in a way she knows that is. "How do </span>
  <em>you</em>
  <span> do it, then? How is it you make it seem so simple?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Primarily, because men are stupid." Lenore giggles and the owl clicks. "Secondarily, I've made an effort to keep a good grasp on myself in spite of my age, unlike most of our kind, and tertiarily, I'm better socialized than you." And she does her best to express honest sympathy at the sour face that Morana gives her. "Which I know isn't </span>
  <em>entirely</em>
  <span> your fault, but you asked for an explanation and I'm just stating the facts.</span>
</p>
<p>"But those last two points are two of the reasons why I keep pets. You know it's all too easy for our kind to let go of our most human traits, aside from the obvious of course, and my animals keep me in practice. Like humans, they have thoughts and feelings, albeit on a much more limited scale, and they still demand a sort of respect and consistency like we do. And, much like humans, meeting their expectations keeps them coming back." Lenore kisses the top of the owl's head and then lifts her arm. It remains there momentarily, head swiveling one way and then the other before taking off and soaring silently out of the open window across the room.</p>
<p>
  <span> "But animals are certainly not </span>
  <em>us</em>
  <span>." Morana counters softly. "And, as you said, they are simpler."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "True enough, but taming animals isn't </span>
  <em>easy</em>
  <span>. Most of these I was able to befriend on my own, without guidance, but it was far from a nightly stroll. I had to learn their language, in a way, just as you will need to learn Striga's. Luckily for </span>
  <em>you</em>
  <span>, most of us have our personal languages rooted in the same place, that is basic needs and desires."</span>
</p>
<p>"Well," Morana pauses to track movement in her peripherals, a particularly large, long haired and spotted cat, another of Lenore's pets. "At the moment it seems her only desire is to be as far away from us as possible." she actually laughs, mostly in spite of herself.</p>
<p>"That's because she hasn't forgiven us for turning her world upside down." Lenore explains frankly. "But you, all three of us in fact, can still take advantage of that."</p>
<p>"How so?" Morana cuts a smirk. "Suppose we lay a trap?" There's obvious sarcasm in the suggestion.</p>
<p>Lenore smiles, genuinely amused and somewhat comforted by the joke. "Not at all, we just need to convince Striga that staying here benefits her more than if she had remained at her post. She needs to feel welcome, like this place could be home if she wanted it."</p>
<p>
  <span> "That's an incredibly large </span>
  <em>if</em>
  <span>, Lenore."</span>
</p>
<p>"I know, but it's the fact of the matter; we can't avoid the guesswork, I'm afraid. And, believe it or not, this is the easy part."</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana's expression lengthens. "</span>
  <em>Easy</em>
  <span>?"</span>
</p>
<p>"Yes, easy in that this is the part I can realistically assist you with." Lenore gives her a knowing look, one brow cocked as she uncrosses her legs and pats her thigh. The cat that had been stalking around the table hops up and immediately coils across Lenore's lap. "I can only play matchmaker so far before you have to fend for yourself."</p>
<p>Now Morana scowls a little, meeting the cat's gaze briefly.</p>
<p>
  <span> "But back to the matter at hand," now Lenore's smile is more devious and her eyes glint with interest. "Let's play to your strengths and develop a strategy. Have you ever had to prepare for a visiting dignitary?"</span>
</p>
<p>"I've made arrangements for such events, yes, though it's been some time." Not since she came to Styria, at the very least, as her duties had taken on considerable changes since joining the late king's court. "But there's no telling when Striga will return, so I can only imagine how much time I actually have."</p>
<p>Lenore rolls her eyes, her talons delicately sifting through the perfectly content cat's fur. "You're over-thinking things again. We don't have to make a big production out of it, I was simply using that as a point of reference. What we need is something more intimate, more personal."</p>
<p>Morana's soft scowl has morphed into a curious knit in her brow. She's thinking. "So...just a simple reception? The four of us?"</p>
<p>"Exactly. We want to show Striga that we missed her, that she's important to us."</p>
<p>The tightness in her features soften, the gears in her mind starting to turn a little more smoothly.</p>
<p>
  <span> "And that it was </span>
  <em>your</em>
  <span> idea."</span>
</p>
<p>"Pardon?"</p>
<p>
  <span> "I mean, it </span>
  <em>is</em>
  <span> your idea, I'm just helping you iron out the logistics because, apparently, being Sapphic keeps your brain from working." Lenore laughs out loud at Morana's sharpening gaze. "Not that I can blame you, though. She's quite handsome."</span>
</p>
<p>Morana has to consciously fight a smile, her mind wandering away to a place she certainly doesn't need it to be right now. Although the distraction brings a certain point to the front of her mind. "What about Carmilla?"</p>
<p>"What about her?"</p>
<p>"Does she know about any of this? Have any objections?"</p>
<p>"Not that I'm aware of, then again, she doesn't share with me as easily as she does with you. Are you worried about something? Think she might try to stop you?"</p>
<p>"I can't be sure, but there's always a chance. She might think it too big of a distraction."</p>
<p>"That's fair, but I don't think Carmilla would do that to you. I honestly believe you're the only person in this whole kingdom she considers a true friend. Now, I'm not saying you should go running to her and spilling everything, and I would advise against lying should she happen to ask what you're up to, but I don't think you should be too concerned."</p>
<p>Morana hopes she's right, like she's never hoped for anything before. She has an incredible degree of respect for Carmilla, not just as the queen but as a friend, and she honestly couldn't imagine what would happen if she were to disapprove of Morana pursuing Striga. She wouldn't stop, sure enough, but that is still a conflict of interest Morana had no desire to undertake.</p>
<p>
  <span> "Unless, of course, it </span>
  <em>does</em>
  <span> become too much of a distraction." Lenore continues, snapping Morana back to the here and now. "But I think you can manage."</span>
</p>
<p>Lenore then manages the cat out of her lap and into her arms like one carries a baby, and then takes the two steps needed to reach Morana and hand it over. "Just sit and meditate on that a while, hm? And Cassius can keep you company while I feed the rest of the children."</p>
<p>
  <span> For a moment Morana just stares at Lenore's back as she walks away, blinking, before her chin tucks and she looks into the equally surprised eyes of the cat that looks up at her. The pitch slits expand and contract, then Cassius grunts expectantly. Just laying her hand across its stomach sets the cat into a loud, rumbling purr, enough to vibrate through Morana's entire body. She finds the vibration surprisingly soothing, grounding, and it's all too easy to take Lenore's advice and just </span>
  <em>think</em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>(II)</em>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Three weeks isn't long at all, not to a vampire. It only feels like last night that Striga was riding away from the castle, yet here she is with the horse ambling towards it again, her work abroad finished. Had the moon been bright enough to cast it's shadow over her, she would have slumped under the weight of it. The Styrian wilds had been so welcoming, familiar in spite of not having been in the region for decades, and a part of her still thought to just vanish into the darkness of those woods and never return. Honor be damned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Don't be ridiculous, your honor is who you are. Without it, you're just another bump in the night.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Striga grumbles from deep in her chest and straightens a little, looking just the right amount of uptight as the gates yawn open for her. She'll remain in the saddle until the attendant comes and takes the reigns, offering the human a reflexive nod of gratitude once she has her feet on solid ground. Striga flinches and scowls against a sudden gust of cold wind through the courtyard, her brow remaining securely knit in the middle as she trains her eyes on the flagstones and approaches the palace entrance. She feels a stutter in her gait when those large wooden doors groan apart, wondering briefly if she'll ever be accustomed to that -being treated like someone too important to open doors for herself.</span>
</p>
<p>The doors coming back together raises a considerable commotion that echoes through the foyer, more than loud enough to conceal the smaller, rhythmic taps of heeled steps.</p>
<p>"Welcome home, general."</p>
<p>Striga stops, chin tipping up in congress with her gaze to settle on the figure but a few strides ahead. "Good evening, Lady Morana." she responds flatly. Then one sable brow rises after a few seconds "Is...there business to discuss or...?"</p>
<p>"Not at present, I just wished to greet you properly. I assume your journey went well?"</p>
<p>"As one might expect." She's curious about the way Morana is smiling at her, but not enough to let it show as she begins walking again, steps diverting just so as to go around Morana. She immediately picks up on being followed. Now there's a nagging in the back of Striga's head, a beforehand unheard of pressure to speak. She ignores it at first, but only heeds it until the two of them have crossed into a long corridor that would eventually end in a flight of stairs. "There are some changes I wish to make to the outposts I visited. Suppose I'll have to go over it with you?"</p>
<p>"For the sake of the appropriate paperwork, yes." Morana nods.</p>
<p>"Carmilla as well?"</p>
<p>"Not necessarily. Unless, of course, these changes are substantial, then it would only be a matter of simply keeping her informed."</p>
<p>"I see." Striga chances a look down, feeling her expression morphing at Morana's sustained smirk and how it seems to only agitate that need to speak. "Would it be agreeable to meet in the council room in an hour to deal with the matter?"</p>
<p>"Absolutely." another little nod. "I'm sure you could use some rest."</p>
<p>"Indeed."</p>
<p>"Have you any needs I could see to during the interim?"</p>
<p>"No, thank you."</p>
<p>Not another word passes between them until they have ascended the staircase, just as they turn opposite directions at the landing to take either wing of the hallway.</p>
<p>"Oh, general, I've just remembered," Morana waits until she has Striga's attention, "a delivery came for you while you were away, I'm assuming it's from your outpost."</p>
<p>"Ah, excellent, thank you. Until later, Lady Morana."</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana is pleasantly surprised by the modest bow that Striga uses to excuse herself, and doesn't realizes that she lingers there on the landing until the general is long out of sight. She sighs, mostly to herself, and then continues on her way. </span>
  <em>Be patient. It's only just beginning.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span> There's actually noticeable haste to Striga's strides as she makes her way to her apartment, one might even say she is eager to return to the space that still feels nothing like her own. She doesn't bother with her key, only marginally surprised to find that the door was, indeed, unlocked. The lightning glass inside is already humming with light, another partial surprise; surely scouts had seen her approaching the palace and given notice to those it might concern to prepare all this. Mild delight turns her face when she spots a casket sized chest on the floor beside the common area table. But, as happy as she is, her attention is promptly grabbed up by the pitcher of blood atop the table, her hunger spiking hard and unavoidable after almost a month of subsisting on the bare minimum from her horse. Striga doesn't bother with the glass, and it takes only a few heavy chugs for her to empty it completely. There's a slight rush following the last swallow, her eyes wide and shimmering with renewed vigor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> It's almost no effort at all to heft the big wooden box up from the floor, setting it on the table with a punctuated racket. It isn't locked, the half rusted iron clasp kept together by a loose and bent horseshoe nail -never needed more than that since anyone who might want to steal from her knew damn well not to. Besides, there wasn't much inside to steal; just everything she owned which, by any stretch, wasn't a great deal. But it was </span>
  <em>hers</em>
  <span> and that's the point. Just looking at it, having it here, brought her an incredible comfort.</span>
</p>
<p>Even the letter she finds folded up inside, addressed to "the long-toothed hag", gives her a certain happiness.</p>
<p>There's a stack of neatly folded clothes at one end of the box that she immediately scoops up and starts filing through once she sets the note aside, plucking a few articles as she means to take a quick bath to wash the road off before her meeting. That and she's sick of trousers, exhaling with something like relief when she finds her dress. The rest of the chest is filled with what one might call her personal armory; a selection of weapons of varied size, style, origin, and age alongside just as diverse articles of armor. All of these things would need a proper place eventually, but that is a matter for later, and she is content to leave it all as it is.</p>
<p>As for the letter, it is about what she expected. Striga always thought Welsh's handwriting was just as beautiful as her words were irreverent.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Suppose you could consider this my first report, general. Or is it "your eminence" or other such nonsense now? What do they call council seat-warmers these days? In any case, I'll be brief as not to keep you from what are surely crucial duties.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Not a shite out of place around here since you left, and that's the truth. I think some of the men aren't too happy to see me in charge of things long term, but I imagine they'll learn to live with it in time. Though I'm formally requesting permission to tan their hides should they choose not to. Lady Morana's letter was nice and formal about it, but it didn't smell as nice as the ones she always sent you. And could you thank her for the generous raise in my wages?</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> This turned out to be nothing like what we expected, didn't it? To be honest, part of me wishes it had been an emergency, an invasion at the least. Place won't be the same without you. Who do those lofty ladies expect me to harass now? Certainly not my good wife as she will no doubt kill me. Speaking of killing, why did it take so long for word of the king's death to get around? Maybe it's just me, but something about that don't smell right. If I'm just being daft, feel free to say so. Unless of course I'm right.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> In closing, let me assure you that I'll keep this place running smoothly as best I can. Can't promise I'll do you proud, but I never have so why start now? Don't be a stranger, general, and give the Lady Morana my best. And yours if she'll let you.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Sincerely,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Commander Welsh</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Striga smirks at the overly intricate but beautifully embellished calligraphy that makes up Welsh's new title, understanding very well that it was meant to be seen as a cheeky exaggeration. And when she takes her eyes away from it, she lingers on the last few words -<em>And yours if she'll let you</em>- the hell was that supposed to mean? "Senile old dog." she grumbles to herself, but still grins a little with amusement. With a shake of her head she puts the letter back where she found it and gathers up the clothes she meant to change into, slipping off to the adjacent room to clean up. Her surprise to find a drawn bath still hot enough to warm the air is minimal, the opposite of the mental gratitude she feels for whoever saw to the arrangement. She can barely remember the last time she hadn't needed to wash herself with rainwater from a barrel. She might even bother with washing her hair. Goodness, that tub is almost big enough to swim in...</p>
<p>Striga hurries a little with drying off and getting dressed, feeling like she might be short on time, but it's mostly out of a sense of personal discipline than a worry of inconveniencing someone. Surely the world would keep turning if she runs a little late. She'll take the time to run a brush through her wet hair and pull some of it back, braiding it off into a half tail to keep it away from her face until it fully dries. Then she tugs her boots back on and leaves the room.</p>
<p>She's rehearsing everything in her head, trying to get all the information together in a way she deems efficient as she makes her way to the council room. Her memory of what she had observed is complete, just a little mismatched in a way, but she's confident in having it back in order by the time she reaches the door and allows herself inside. She'll shut the door behind herself and make it three long strides into the room before she stops, features stretching in quiet surprise.</p>
<p>As expected, Morana was present, but so were Lenore and Carmilla, and the table between them is littered with a selection of platters of food and pitchers of blood and wine -Striga can smell the alcohol from where she stands. But that is totally forgotten when she realizes they're all looking at her.</p>
<p>Carmilla gestures towards her, glass in hand inching upward. "Ah, general, right on time. Come, have a seat."</p>
<p>Striga blinks. "What is this?"</p>
<p>"Morana thought you'd enjoy a nice meal when you returned." Lenore explains, smiling knowingly as her red irises flit from Striga, to across the table, and then back again. "Did she not mention it when she greeted you?"</p>
<p>"I'm afraid not." the look of surprise softens, but not completely. She manages to start walking again, appearing to cautiously take the only open seat. "Not to seem ungrateful, this is most appreciated, I've just never been one for surprises."</p>
<p>"Oh, our apologies." Lenore casts a look of sympathy. "We, Morana especially," that sympathy turns to a smile again, "just wanted show you how glad we are that you're back to stay. For a while at least."</p>
<p>"Is that so?"</p>
<p>"Oh, yes."</p>
<p>The last of the puzzlement on Striga's face smooths out, and there's the making of a smile somewhere amongst the hard angles. "Then the Lady Morana has my thanks for being so thoughtful."</p>
<p>Morana sits to Striga's left, and has yet to say a word until now. "You're most welcome." and it's sincere and easy in spite of the tizzy she's convinced her mind is in. Because Striga looks wonderful and she knows she hasn't been able to take her eyes off her since she came in.</p>
<p>Striga's tunic is a wine red hue with a wide open collar, showing off the definition and strength in her neck and shoulders -even more so now with her hair pulled back like it is, and her collar bones cut impressive shadows even in the more than sufficient light from the fireplace and the lightning glass. The sleeves are cut short, almost not there at all, and it gives Morana an unobstructed view of powerful arms that, even at rest, show lines and furrows of musculature like a marble sculpture. Masterfully crafted at that. Seeing her in a dress instead of trousers is a wonderful surprise, it's elegant in a way that Morana can't quite define, but she certainly appreciates the look on her.</p>
<p>Then Morana catches the gleam of light off the ring on Striga's little finger and her ribs clench. But she says nothing, brings no further attention to it, and consciously makes an effort to forget it exists for the time being.</p>
<p>Striga is astonished by how...comfortable this little reception is. Not necessarily <em>comforting </em>-part of her refuses to see this as more than just a formality, just another part of the ploy to keep her here, but there's something nice about it all the same. The four of them skirt around business matters and just go back and forth with questions and anecdotes, many of which they try to include her in. Unlike the first council meeting, Striga is a little more receptive to participation.</p>
<p>"You were with the Mongols before you came to Styria, isn't that right, general?" Lenore asks, unashamedly curious.</p>
<p>"I was, yes."</p>
<p>"But you're not Mongolian?"</p>
<p>"No. I was born south of Kyiv, actually." She thinks, but is mostly certain that is true. It had been <em>some time</em> since, after all.</p>
<p>"How long ago?"</p>
<p>"Lenore, you know it's rude to ask a lady her age." the queen seems to grin in spite of herself.</p>
<p>"I'm fairly certain I'm still the eldest in the room, Carmilla, so that rule doesn't apply to me." Lenore dismisses with a wave of her hand and a sip of wine. "But of course the general is welcome to decline to answer."</p>
<p>"I likely wouldn't, had I an answer at all."</p>
<p>"Do you not remember?" Morana asks softly.</p>
<p>"No." and while Striga's tone is neutral, the response <em>feels</em> like anything but.</p>
<p>"All right, but I have to know," Lenore continues, probably sensing that tension and wishing to dispel it. "Is it true that Mongols ate meat they kept under their <em>saddles</em>?"</p>
<p>"Oh my god," Carmilla cringes.</p>
<p>"It is." Striga answers plainly, and it looks like she wants to smile about it. "The horse's body heat combined with our weight dry cured it. Mind you it smelled awful and tasted like horse hide, but it was better than nothing."</p>
<p>"I think I just threw up a little." Carmilla groans.</p>
<p>"How did you survive? Did you have to feed on humans in secret?" Lenore seems particularly interested.</p>
<p>"Oh no, they knew exactly what I was, in fact there were many of us, enough to make up a full company."</p>
<p>"But the Mongols are nomads, travel during the day," Morana chimes in.</p>
<p>"True, but, as I said, they knew, and they took a degree of care of us. We were viewed as assets, much like the horses. Not fully respected as human, but still valuable. Each of us were assigned to families; the soldiers brought their entire households with them, and they sheltered us in wagons during the day and saw that we were fed. In exchange we would guard them at night and served as reinforcements should an engagement carry on after sunset. It was," her face quirks, "strangely harmonious."</p>
<p>"I remember when you first came to the palace." Morana chuckles softly. "I'm afraid I must admit that I initially thought you were a man." An easy mistake for anyone to make, considering Striga's incredible stature on its own, never mind that she had been covered from head to toe in armor and furs with an up-drawn hood at the time.</p>
<p>Striga chuffs, amused. "I wish I had a gold piece for every time <em>that</em> has happened to me."</p>
<p>"Remind me after our meeting and I'll give you one." She laughs softly into her hand, but abruptly stops when Striga tips back her head and laughs rather loudly at the idea. Morana felt a certain thrill over that sound, over having been the one to draw it out into the open. And that smile, it almost gave her a pulse.</p>
<p>"How <em>did</em> the king convince you to leave the horde, general?" Carmilla asks. "Because, by the sounds of it, you had a rather favorable arrangement with them." And she simply can't imagine anyone willingly joining his ranks without an incredibly good reason.</p>
<p>Striga lilts her head and shrugs her shoulders, noncommittal to whether or not it was actually favorable. It was convenient at the time and better than wandering the wilds alone. "The king offered me the throne if I could best him in a duel, if not, my men and I would join his army."</p>
<p>All three of the other sisters make the same face, gaping shock. Clearly neither of them had known about that.</p>
<p>"Considering the Mongols were looking to conquer the entirety of the continent, an opportunity to have a whole kingdom under its control in the heart of Europe was an exceptionally tempting offer. I couldn't refuse."</p>
<p>"And you <em>lost</em>?" Lenore's jaw hangs, and she can't help shaking her head in disbelief when Striga nods.</p>
<p>"As much as I hate to admit it," Carmilla intercedes, "the king claimed to be a great many things, and an exceptional swordsman was <em>actually </em>one of them."</p>
<p>Striga nods again. "I took him as a braggart, as most nobles are in my experience. I underestimated him."</p>
<p>"But can you imagine what it would be like if you <em>had</em> beaten him?" Lenore's eyes are alight.</p>
<p>"Might have saved me a little misery." Carmilla scoffs, emptying her glass only to fill it again. "Then again, half the army would have likely defected with a woman on the throne."</p>
<p>"No one has defected as of yet, Carmilla, and <em>you</em> are the sovereign of Styria." Morana points out.</p>
<p>"That's <em>different</em>; I'm part of the chain of succession, in a way it's expected." she explains. "But if they were ever presented with a strange <em>giant</em> of a woman with an entire nation's invading army at her beck and call just strolling through to claim the crown, they would all <em>shit</em>. No offense intended towards you, general."</p>
<p>"None taken, your majesty, I've been called far worse things." Striga smirks.</p>
<p>"<em>Please</em>," Carmilla begs with the littlest roll of her eyes, "use my name."</p>
<p>"Oh. Very well, if you insist."</p>
<p>The conversation continues to morph and shift from one topic to another until the pitchers and platters are empty, after which Carmilla and Lenore will excuse themselves to their own business and leave Morana and Striga to theirs. Morana is feeling exposed without her other sisters' presence, but steels herself all the same. There was work to do after all.</p>
<p>In spite of the obstacles of a full belly and wine, Striga is methodical and straight forward with her report on the outposts she visited and her plans for each of them. For the most part she had been satisfied with their operations, but one in particular was, per her own words, "in sore need of leadership reform."</p>
<p>"What would you suggest?"</p>
<p>"Perhaps a probationary demotion for the resident commander. To me it seems like he's gone too long without having to answer to anyone, otherwise I found him mostly competent." Striga had camped around this installation for several nights, keeping out of sight and keeping her ears open, gathering whatever intelligence she could. "Send in a general -fresh eyes to watch him and fix his shortcomings while keeping him in line. I imagine you're more familiar than I am, so I suppose you can choose who you think would be best for the job."</p>
<p>"I appreciate your confidence, I'll be sure to give it my full attention." Morana nods once. "Also, now that I'm thinking of it, you should make time to introduce yourself and become familiar with Captain Taubert, she's head of the palace guard and your direct subordinate. At the moment she only speaks Franc, so you'll need an interpreter."</p>
<p>"Has she held the position long?"</p>
<p>"Carmilla installed her shortly after assuming the throne."</p>
<p>"What happened to her predecessor?"</p>
<p>"Carmilla convinced him to retire."</p>
<p>Striga smirks after a brief pause. "You mean he's dead."</p>
<p>Morana's gaze dips and she can't help but smile in a knowing way. It's all the answer she feels she needs to give.</p>
<p>Striga chuckles softly, from the chest, a sound that she has no idea is giving Morana goosebumps. "Carmilla...she is turning out to be nothing like I had expected. In truth, none of you are."</p>
<p>Morana lifts one eyebrow. "Is that a good thing?"</p>
<p>"I have yet to decide, so take it as you will."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In time, Morana will run out of excuses to prolong this meeting and surrenders to the notion of retiring to her chambers to see to other pressing matters. However, there's one last thing she means to follow through on beforehand, and invites Striga to accompany her. The general's visible, gentle confusion is rather cute. "Humor me." is all she asks, and Striga agrees if for no other reason than morbid curiosity.</p>
<p>Not a word passes between them until they reach Morana's apartment. "This way, should you need me for anything, you know where to find me."</p>
<p>"Indeed." Striga acknowledges neutrally. "Well, good evening-,"</p>
<p>"Just a moment more, general, if you please. I have something for you."</p>
<p>Striga waits out in the hallway, her brow knit and uneven the entire time and her big arms crossing her chest. When Morana emerges from behind the door she keeps a closed hand at sternum level and has just enough of a smile for one dimple to show.</p>
<p>"This is from Lenore." Morana opens her hand, using the talons on the other to pluck something from her palm. "I'm not entirely sure what the insignia means, but I suppose in that case it's the thought that counts."</p>
<p>Striga holds out her hand and lets her drop what looks like a small silver ring into it. At a glance, she can make out an engraved eye -at least that's what it appears to be. "Did she give one to you as well?"</p>
<p>"She did." Morana cocks her head, hoping Striga will see the ring near the end of her right ear. "And...this is from me, as promised."</p>
<p>Striga's eyes widen on the gold coin Morana pinches between her fingers. She grins and then laughs loud enough for it to echo through the corridor as she opens her hand again to receive the token.</p>
<p>"I'm a woman of my word, general, a word I hope you'll come to trust in time." Morana smiles a little wider, the second dimple manifesting as she presses the coin into Striga's hand. She lets her hand rest there, selfishly, even as the tip of one talon touches Striga's ring and she mentally tenses.</p>
<p>Ask? Why not? This early in the game, it's just curiosity. It won't mean anything, right?</p>
<p>"That's a lovely ring, general."</p>
<p>"Hm? Ah, yes," she withdraws her hand and immediately starts spinning the band around her little finger. "Thank you."</p>
<p>"Are you married?"</p>
<p>"Oh no," she almost laughs. "If I remember correctly, it was my mother's."</p>
<p>"Ah, please excuse my rudeness."</p>
<p>"Think nothing of it." Striga dismisses. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"</p>
<p>"No, general, and I'm sorry for keeping you so late."</p>
<p>"No need, after all, I'm a gold piece richer for it." she chuckles and shakes her fist, the slightest metallic rattle within her grasp. "Good evening, Lady Morana."</p>
<p>"Good evening."</p>
<p>Morana lingers in her doorway and watches Striga walk away, until she disappears and Morana feels like she can move again. She'll close the door easily, almost carefully so as not to make too much noise -it might be too much stimulation at present. Too much to put beside the giddy nerves and the elation and the dizzying speed of her own thoughts. She takes a moment to collect herself, just standing there in front of her own door and taking a deep, slow breath, but even as she goes about the rest of her evening, seemingly composed, she's smiling like a fool the entire time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Author's Note:</span>
  <span> If anyone is wondering why Morana keeps going to Lenore for romantic advice, I'll probably touch on that next chapter. There's a reason, I just haven't mentioned it yet. Otherwise, I hope this is pacing all right. Like, I want a happy balance between "wham-bam-thank you, ma'am" and slow burn, and it's been a minute or two since I wrote a romance, if ever. Now, there's going to be narrative conflict, but likely not the sort that accompanies most romances. What that means, exactly is up for debate. If you would be so kind, feedback is always appreciated, even if it's just a quick pat on the back or a kudos. Also, don't get your pants in a knot about all these OC's, they're only placeholders for the most part. Thanks, and I'll catch you next chapter, where lots and LOTS of headcanons are probably going to find their jumping off point.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter Three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"The general certainly cleans up nicely, doesn't she?"</p>
<p>Morana sighs as she carries on through the last legs of her preparation for bed. It's almost dawn and she is properly exhausted. Still, she smiles to herself. "She does."</p>
<p>"Speaking of which, your eyes were telling on you again."</p>
<p>Morana scoffs and starts to gather her hair over her shoulder, pulling a brush through it before tying the rich brown fluff together with a thin silk ribbon. "Have you <em>not</em> found a book <em>yet</em>?"</p>
<p>"No, because, for some ungodly reason, every time I think to borrow one from you, I hope your collection might have changed."</p>
<p>"Oh, <em>please</em> forgive me for not keeping a stash of romance novels for you, Lenore."</p>
<p>"Well, perhaps if you <em>did</em>, you wouldn't need to come to me for advice so often." When Morana swivels around in her seat to look at her, Lenore catches her sister's gaze and gives her a sickle of a smirk.</p>
<p>"They're hardly what I would call <em>educational</em>."</p>
<p>"True enough, but they could give you some ideas, at the very least." Lenore is still grinning like a cat when she looks away, taking one last step up the ladder propped against the bookcase before reaching one shelf higher to pluck a volume from its spot.</p>
<p>"I can formulate <em>ideas</em> for myself, thank you."</p>
<p>"Of course you can." and Lenore makes an honest effort not to sound <em>too</em> condescending, but fails miserably if the souring of Morana's expression is any indication. Lenore giggles to herself as she navigates her way back down to the floor, the book tucked against her chest. She heads for the door, pausing to watch Morana cross the floor to her bed. "Did you see the general's ring?"</p>
<p>"I did."</p>
<p>"Is that why you're so cranky?"</p>
<p>"I'm cranky because it is nearly dawn and I wish to <em>sleep</em> ." Morana punctuates the last word with a hard jerk of her hand to turn down the blankets. "And if you <em>must</em> know -if it will convince you to leave me in peace- she said it belonged to her mother."</p>
<p>"Oh, that's so sweet," Lenore coos, "means she has a soft side."</p>
<p>"Of course she does." Morana sounds slightly offended. "Now, I bid you good morning."</p>
<p>"Good morning, sister dear, pleasant dreams." and she lingers in the doorway long enough to see Morana's waving, dismissive hand once she's drawn the blankets across herself, grinning like a cat as she sees herself out and quietly closes the door.</p>
<p>As tired as she is, Morana lays awake for a while longer; it's nothing new as a mind like hers is hard to quiet. But, instead of being harried with work related matters, all her attention lingers on the general. All her curiosity, whimsy, and want. Morana isn't one to dream, but sometimes she allows her mind to wander, to ponder what could be.</p>
<p>Still, it isn't long before she remembers how precarious all this still is, how little she knows for certain -such as whether or not it is possible to win Striga over at all- and she groans quietly in resignation, rolling over and burying her face into her plush, oversized pillow.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Striga, by the same token, is not quite asleep yet though she knows she should be. Then again, she hasn't really given it much effort, no more than it took to get undressed and settled on the bearskin -she still doesn't trust the bed for a proper day's rest. Instead, for the last little while she has simply laid there on her back, distracted and fascinated by the coin she almost naturally rolls between and across her fingers. Something...she isn't quite sure how to describe it; her instincts have been buzzing since she and Lady Morana parted ways this evening, and Striga couldn't attribute the feeling to anything -any <em>one</em> thing, that is.</p>
<p>Dinner tonight had given Striga the opportunity to learn a great deal about her fellow council members; though she is plenty certain that there is considerably more yet to discover, Striga feels she has a rounded base of insight on each of them</p>
<p>Lenore lives to socialize, one might even think she feeds on that energy in the same way she feeds on blood. Striga knows she can read the energy in a room and adjust her own demeanor as quick as a thought and with masterful precision, and that's in a casual setting. She can't begin to imagine such skills when put to the test.</p>
<p>Carmilla is, truly, not at all what she expected in a queen. Striga remembers her, vaguely, from what felt like ages ago when she first came to Styria, always at the king's side and always looking ready to bolt. Striga had seen it plainly enough, the stiffness of shoulders and an over-straightened spine. Eyes that constantly regarded the king whenever he moved. But, now that he was gone, Striga believes she had caught a glimpse of who Carmilla really is. Shameless, proud and confident in her station, full of something powerful that she wasn't quite ready to name just yet, though it could be a number of things. Passion, ambition, fury...who knew for sure?</p>
<p>And Morana...</p>
<p>Striga stills the coin between her fingers, nimbly transferring it to press between her thumb and forefinger. Her brow furrows.</p>
<p>To be frank, the Lady Morana appeared to be gathering information just as much as Striga. Not from her contemporaries, of course. Striga had sensed it in her reservation, her silent preference to listen and to give attention instead of take. And it took no time at all for Striga to take note of Morana's absolutely undivided attention whenever she spoke. But that wasn't all. She seemed to smile a lot, and Striga felt like it was directed <em>at her</em>, especially before they separated for the evening.</p>
<p>Striga only ponders the matter a bit longer, long enough to write most of it off as Morana simply being pleasant, and looking to learn about her new associate and little else.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Come sundown she takes a deep breath and an even bigger, body-wide stretch to rouse herself. Rolling over to stand up, her attention is snatched by a distinct metallic chime on marble, her eyes reflexively darting the token spinning on the floor -the room is pitch black so all she can see is various shades of gray, not that she needed to see to identify the sound and where it was coming from. Striga crouches down and plucks it between two fingers, turning it over her knuckles a time or two in a distracted way before she forces her attention back together. She palms the coin and starts going about gathering her clothes, dropping the bit of gold into the still open box on the common table when she passes close enough.</p>
<p>After the lightning glass flickers on and Striga swears and rubs her eyes through adjusting to the light, she moves towards her desk, spinning the ring on her finger to help her focus and get her thoughts together. There were some things she wanted to write down to discuss with Morana tonight, if for no other reason than to keep from forgetting. Just as she's pulling the chair out there's a knock at the door. She's swearing again while long, frustrated strides take her across the room. She thinks she might have been too forceful opening the door.</p>
<p>There is Lenore, looking up with a sweet smile on her face, her tone of voice matching her expression. "Good evening, general."</p>
<p>Striga blinks at her, briefly puzzled.</p>
<p>"Are you all right?"</p>
<p>"Y-yes, I'm fine. Can I help you?"</p>
<p>"Quite the opposite, actually. I'm here to help <em>you</em>."</p>
<p>"Oh?"</p>
<p>"Yes. Morana told me about your appointment with Captain Taubert, I'll be your interpreter."</p>
<p>"Ah, yes," Striga nods, remembering. "Right now?"</p>
<p>"Preferably. Is now a bad time?"</p>
<p>"No, it's just," Striga steps through and out into the hallway, closing the door behind her while she finds the words she hadn't expected to need. "This <em>was</em> something I meant to do, I just didn't expect to do it so soon."</p>
<p>"Ah, I see. Morana's usually good at passing these things along, but she's rather busy already this evening and I'm <em>sure</em> she never meant to inconvenience you."</p>
<p>"Indeed. Let us be on, then."</p>
<p>The walk is a quiet one, the only sound in the lengthy corridors being their own steps. That is, until Striga stops, surprised when Lenore continues on a different route from the council chamber. Lenore goes on to explain that Carmilla meant for that room to be solely for the <em>council's</em> business.</p>
<p>"It's <em>our room</em>," Lenore chuckles, remembering Carmilla's rather impassioned insistence when the matter first came up. "This was discussed before you came here to stay, so I beg your pardon for not informing you sooner."</p>
<p>Striga shrugs it off wordlessly, simply continuing on and following Lenore. When they do arrive at their destination - a smaller, less extravagant room outfitted for the same purpose- Captain Taubert is waiting and quickly rises from her seat to greet them in the proper fashion. Lenore makes the formal sounding introductions, after which Striga and Taubert shake hands and take their seats.</p>
<p>The exchange is all business, but relaxed in a way. Striga appears and feels like she's in her element; Lenore notices the ease of questions and comments between Striga and the captain, feeling it allows her to relax a little herself. There's no pressure for Lenore to elaborate on hardly anything, really, as Striga and Taubert seem to have an innate understanding of the matters they address from Taubert's service record, how she manages those under her command, and the potentiality of the captain being an occasional sparring partner. And Taubert's responses are no-nonsense, to the point and efficiently delivered. Lenore starts to wonder if she and the general are somehow related -as impossible as she knows that to be.</p>
<p>The meeting will last just over an hour, and Striga leaves the table feeling rather accomplished. She's actually smiling, even as she and Lenore enter the hallway.</p>
<p>"That was excellent work, Lady Lenore, you have my deepest thanks."</p>
<p>"You're quite welcome, general."</p>
<p>"Do you speak any other languages?"</p>
<p>"Several, yes, but they're all rooted in Latin, so I'm somewhat cheating." she flashes a toothy smile and a laugh. "But those are the corners you cut to be a diplomat."</p>
<p>"Hmm." Striga nods.</p>
<p>"I suppose you'll wish to see Morana now since that's out of the way?"</p>
<p>"I suppose so, if she has the time to spare." The two start along the corridor, back the way they had come. "Might I ask a question?"</p>
<p>"Of course."</p>
<p>She had been thinking about this for some time, since she returned to the palace, but only now did she feel it appropriate to ask. "Is it intentional that Carmilla seems to be surrounding herself with women? Because I believe I am noticing a pattern,"</p>
<p>"Oh, it most certainly is." Lenore shows no hesitation with her answer.</p>
<p>"Is there practical reasoning behind this, or is she just Sapphic?"</p>
<p>Lenore laughs, her fangs flashing in the brief instant before she covers her mouth with her hand. "I'm afraid I've never asked to <em>that</em> end, and if that's the case, I feel rather flattered, personally." She spies a little smirk on Striga's face and feels her ribs clench. It's an opportunity. "So you're familiar with Sappho?"</p>
<p>"After a fashion." she replies plainly. "I've never read her work for myself, but Welsh often read to her wife aloud. It's fine poetry."</p>
<p>"Oh, that sounds adorable." Lenore fawns. "I'm so envious. You know, Morana's the local authority on her work, I bet she'd be <em>thrilled</em> to finally have someone who shares her interests."</p>
<p>"Indeed. But, as for my question?" Striga felt like they were getting off topic.</p>
<p>"Yes, of course. Well, it depends on your definition of practical. After decades of watching a bunch of old men spit and squabble over power, I can imagine she thinks women are the only sort she can trust."</p>
<p>Striga smirks, one brow rising. "Women can be just as conniving as men, if not more so."</p>
<p>"Indeed we can; we have to be able to survive <em>a man's world</em>, don't we? But I believe Carmilla's reign will be far different."</p>
<p>"How so?"</p>
<p>"Because she treats us like <em>equals</em>, in her eyes we hold inherent value, she <em>trusts</em> us. And, whether or not you believe it, she would <em>kill</em> for us."</p>
<p>Striga lets the words sit with her a moment, weighs them for whatever truth they hold. "Is it safe to assume you're speaking first hand? Particularly on that last point?"</p>
<p>"I am." Lenore nods once. That easy smile from before is gone, and her eyes are set in a jarringly sober way. "Morana and I would do, and have done no less for her."</p>
<p>"Oh? And who have you killed, Lady Lenore?"</p>
<p>Lenore is far from approving of the general's tone; there's a hint of jest in it, of disbelief, but she refuses to react in a way that reveals it. She knows what Striga probably thinks of her, it's the same thing <em>everyone</em> thinks of her in the beginning -just a little girl who's too long in the teeth for her own good. She can hardly blame Striga, so she takes this as a moment to teach.</p>
<p>"I slit my lord's throat in front of his entire court." and she confesses this without pause, without an ounce of remorse. "Mind you, I use the term loosely as this was <em>ages</em> ago, and what passed for a court then would hardly hold up <em>now</em>, but I digress. I bled him dry. And then I did the same to his sons, and his generals, and his generals' sons, and after all the others fled like frightened little piglets, I razed the place to the ground. And <em>none</em> of that was for Carmilla's benefit. In fact, this was long before she even existed."</p>
<p>Striga says nothing, makes no obvious sign or tell of a reaction, but simply continues to walk.</p>
<p>"Although," Lenore goes on, though now the smile has returned, "to be wholly honest, what I did for Carmilla was hauntingly similar. I knew she needed me, so I took the necessary steps to gain the king's favor. That meant removing some of his competition, which I'm certain you can suss out for yourself."</p>
<p>And she could, most assuredly, so she simply nods in acceptance. "And the Lady Morana?"</p>
<p>Lenore hums pleasantly and lilts her head. "Unfortunately, that isn't my story to tell. Perhaps you could ask her yourself, give you both something to talk about other than work." And she goes out of her way to make eye contact with Striga, so she can see the little bit of mischief in Lenore's expression. "That and Sappho."</p>
<p>Striga's face quirks and her head cocks to the side, a very canine gesture that makes Lenore both uncertain and enamored at the general's apparent obliviousness. As badly as Lenore wanted to explain the seemingly obvious suggestion behind the comment -by god, <em><b>so</b></em> <em>badly</em>- she decides it better to leave the matter where it lay. Besides, that would surely ruin all of Morana's fun as well as her own.</p>
<p>Just as the two of them turn down the corridor leading to Morana's apartment, the door in question opens and she walks out. She seems bound and determined to go in the opposite direction, and Lenore quickly calls out to her to bring her to an abrupt stop.</p>
<p>"Ah, what a coincidence," Morana seems pleased to say as she turns, redirecting her steps towards them, "I was just coming to look for you."</p>
<p>"Are you sure? In your night clothes?" Lenore grins fiendishly.</p>
<p>Morana still carries something resembling a smile, but it has the most subtle sharpness to it as she narrows her eyes on her little sister. "These are <em>not</em> my night clothes, and you know it." An off white kaftan is perfectly suitable for being out and about in, albeit a much more relaxed look to be sure. But why bother with all the bells and whistles when there was no serious work to be done?</p>
<p>Morana stops and looks to Striga. "I am assuming you've concluded your meeting with Captain Taubert."</p>
<p>"Yes, and there are a few minor things I wanted to go over with you."</p>
<p>"Of course, but could it wait?"</p>
<p>Raven brows rise, curious. "Is something wrong?"</p>
<p>"Not at all, however the tailor has arrived to take your measurements."</p>
<p>"Ah." Raven brows collapse, far from pleased. "Will this take very long?"</p>
<p>"No more than an hour, I imagine. And we could always discuss things as you go, all you will need to do is stand still."</p>
<p>"As you say, it can wait; I'd rather give either matter my full attention." and it sounds like Striga is fighting back a disapproving groan.</p>
<p>"If you insist." Morana concedes, and then gestures for Striga and Lenore to follow her back to her apartment.</p>
<p>Striga is in no way surprised that Morana's quarters are as orderly as she finds them. Everything in its place, clean, purposefully assembled. Not entirely welcoming, she would admit, but, then again, it wasn't necessarily meant to be. This was <em>Morana's space</em>, it didn't need to be welcoming to anyone but her. The general finds her attention lingering on the weapons mounted to the wall, some sorts she had never seen before and meant to ask about later, given the opportunity. Then that attention is snatched away by the conversation erupting from the common table in a Latin dialect she could just barely understand. Her head moves to track the sound, just in time to catch Morana's hand gesturing for her to come over.</p>
<p>"General Striga, this is Lorenzo." Morana directs Striga's attention to the older looking, very round man -a vampire no doubt- in front of her. "Lorenzo, allow me to introduce-,"</p>
<p>"My <em>god</em>!" the man exclaims, effectively ending the formalities as the back of his head nearly touches his shoulders in his attempt to look up high enough to meet Striga's eyes. Mind you, he's hardly taller than Lenore. "I didn't realize you were being <em>literal</em> when you said this would be a tall order, Lady Morana."</p>
<p>Almost immediately Striga decides that she doesn't like him, but shakes his hand all the same when he offers it and hopes her disapproval of his blatant rudeness isn't visible on her face. It becomes that much harder to hide when he chuckles, apparently more concerned with his own amusing cleverness than decorum.</p>
<p>"Thank goodness I thought to bring my taller stool." he goes on, coiling one side of his bushy mustache around one finger as he looks Striga up and down. "It's a pleasure, general, now if you would step over here, we'll get started. Would you remove your boots, please?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lenore and Morana take a seat at the common table, Lenore helping herself to the pitcher of blood and a glass. Striga comes to the table only to brace against it as she negotiates her boots off, Morana attempting to offer her a drink while she has the opportunity. Striga thanks her and swallows it all in one toss, offering a grateful nod before walking back to where Lorenzo waits. Morana watches her walk away, making no attempt to hide it.</p>
<p>"So, tell me," Lenore starts, her tone soft enough to carry the notion that this was meant to be between only them. "What's with the under dressing? Feel like it's time she see you without your make up on?"</p>
<p>"And if I do?" Morana counters casually, filling her own glass and taking a sip.</p>
<p>"Aren't you going a little fast?" Lenore smirks, a smirk that widens when Morana's eyes narrow on her.</p>
<p>"How did the meeting with Taubert go?"</p>
<p>"Swimmingly, those two ought to work well together."</p>
<p>"Good, I had hoped as much."</p>
<p>"I think the general wants to schedule training sessions with her, likely she'll go into more details with you later, seeing as you handle all our itineraries around here."</p>
<p>Morana nods, busy with her glass. "Excellent." <em>She's trying to settle in, that's good.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>"General," Lorenzo's voice carries over, "do you know how tall you <em>actually</em> are?"</p>
<p>"No."</p>
<p>"Do you care to?"</p>
<p>"No."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lenore takes another sip and clears her throat. "Want to hear something interesting?"</p>
<p>Morana smiles. "Always."</p>
<p>"The general knows Sappho."</p>
<p>Morana's eyes go wide and she feels a distinct throb behind her ribs. "<em>What</em>?"</p>
<p>"Don't get too excited," Lenore waves her hand, like she's trying to shush her. "I mean that literally; I may not be <em>fluent</em> in your weird lesbian code, but I don't think <em>she</em> is either. She took me at my word, said her poetry is <em>delightful</em>."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Are you binding, general?"</p>
<p>"I am."</p>
<p>"Always?"</p>
<p>"For convenience."</p>
<p>"Would you have me do your bust measurements as is or...how about I give you an extra inch or two and we'll discuss it further at your fitting?"</p>
<p>"Very well."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Morana exhales, not necessarily pleased, but not entirely discouraged. "It's something."</p>
<p>"Exactly." Lenore nods. "Something you can talk about other than work."</p>
<p>"Provided we ever have the opportunity."</p>
<p>"That's why you <em>make</em> an opportunity, sister dear."</p>
<p>"It's hardly the time for personal invitations, much too soon."</p>
<p>"Not for <em>friends</em> to enjoy quality time together, right? We're still questing for <em>friendship</em>, remember?"</p>
<p>"Yes." Morana groans a little, emptying her glass and then refilling it. "I haven't forgotten. Just...considering my approach." Because, while this early into the game is the best time to make mistakes, she would sooner not make a mistake to begin with -she can sense how crucial her first impression is. Morana has confidence that, on a professional level, there is nothing to worry about, but this...walking a tightrope would likely be less precarious.</p>
<p>"If it makes you feel any better, I think I've got her curious about you." Lenore smirks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Do you have any preferences I should be aware of, general?"</p>
<p>"No high or tight collars, please."</p>
<p>"I will still need to measure your neck."</p>
<p>Striga takes a deep breath, a sound of begrudged acceptance.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"What on earth does that mean?" Morana wants to laugh, because she could literally mean <em>anything</em>. "You're not fibbing on me, are you?"</p>
<p>"Heavens no, you know I love you more than that. I'm almost offended." she giggles and shifts in her seat, crossing her legs. "I <em>may</em> have challenged her notion that the three of us are just soft and squishy nobles a little bit, laid out some truths, and left her guessing when she specifically asked about you."</p>
<p>Morana's brow furrows, her head cocking curiously. "Hmm, clever."</p>
<p>"I may not speak Sapphic, but I know how to set a lure."</p>
<p>"<em>This</em> is <em>not</em> a <em>trap</em>." Morana reiterates through a tight jaw.</p>
<p>"I never said it was." she sounds so damn innocent. "You asked for my help, so I'm helping in the best way I know how. What more do you want?" and then she puts on a fairly convincing pout.</p>
<p>But Morana isn't buying it for a second. "You know <em>exactly</em> what you're doing, and you'll not convince me otherwise." Though she has to consciously try to cover up a smile when Lenore flashes all her teeth and bats her eyes. "You're just looking to entertain yourself."</p>
<p>"True enough, but not so far as to prove detrimental to you. I want this story to have a <em>happy</em> ending."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Striga has a pulse, she acknowledges it, but something in her mind isn't connecting properly. Knowing it's there does nothing to help her stop it, and her focus is clouding with the rhythmic thunder in her ears. She feels a <em>need</em>, an impulse to breathe, even though she <em>knows</em> she doesn't have to. Her head is pounding like a fever has settled in, though she can't remember the last time she ever felt such an ailment.</p>
<p>"General," Lorenzo says from behind her, "I need you to relax."</p>
<p>He's using a ribbon of some kind, or a rope, striped with hash marks to measure the circumference of her neck. He's hardly putting any pressure on it, just enough for it to hold its place, but her brain is screaming <em>strangulation</em>. The tendons in her neck stand out hard beneath her silvery skin, a reflex she barely notices.</p>
<p>"General? Please?"</p>
<p>That pounding in her head is getting louder, heavier, she can feel the lurch of her heart around her eyes, her fangs. She doesn't realize just how deeply she's breathing; lungfuls so great they might pop a rib.</p>
<p>"Just for a moment, general," he tugs on it, inching the cord higher, behind the hinge of her jaw. "if you plea-,"</p>
<p>"<em>I am </em><em><b>trying</b></em>!" she shouts viciously, fangs bared and pupils paper thin as she snatches the cord, ripping it from his grip and whipping around to face him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Everything stops. All eyes are on Striga, all filled with wariness and confusion. Lorenzo is unashamedly afraid, his hands covering his mouth as he trembles on the top step of his stool. In the seconds before that shattering sound, Lenore had felt the sudden eruption of tension in the room and shifted in her seat, a preemptive motion to uncross her legs as if preparing to move at a moment's notice. Though she looks just as relaxed as always, her body is strung tight and ready to react. Morana is not as sensitive in that respect as her sister, but her reflexes are equally fast; she had bolted to her feet in the blink of an eye, not entirely aware of what she meant to do, only that she had clearly meant to do <em>something</em>. Whatever it was, the fact that <em>everything</em> had stilled after that initial shock held her action, and now she just stands there looking on like the others.</p>
<p>Striga knows what has just happened, knows what she did and why, but again, like before, there was a yawning disconnect somewhere in her mind that had kept her from stopping herself. Just as it is stopping her now, slowing her return from that seemingly split second fever dream. Stopping her from finding the meaning behind the fear she sees in Lorenzo's eyes -eyes that are fixed resolutely on <em>her</em>- and reacting to it.</p>
<p>"General,"</p>
<p>The pulse in her ears isn't so loud as to drown out that soft sound, and her senses latch on and draw her attention to it. It's grounding somehow, not that Striga can presently acknowledge it, and little by little, reality starts to put itself closer together in her mind. Striga straightens from her unconscious, predatory hunch and tucks her fangs away, though her nostrils still flare around quick, filling breaths. Her expression is still hard, savage lines and a low brow, and the sclera of her still livid eyes is dark with blood. That gaze collides with Morana's.</p>
<p>"Perhaps...it would be better to continue this later."</p>
<p>One sable brow lifts, a hint of curiosity, but not at the notion. That disconnect has yet to really close, so Striga is partly wondering what the hell Morana's talking about to begin with. Still, her mind is <em>desperately</em> reaching for stability, she can almost feel the struggle amid the throbbing in her skull. When it finally happens, when the haze collapses, she reflexively blinks, her nerves jarred by the cool wetness she feels rolling quickly down her left cheek.</p>
<p>Without a thought she reaches for it, her fingertips coming back into view with dark, crimson smudges across the pads. She looks up at Morana again, all the hardness in her face vanishing, then she looks to Lenore and then Lorenzo.</p>
<p>"...E-excuse me." it's a quick, unsteady grunt, and Striga doesn't bother waiting for a response as she turns hard and fast on her heels and hurries out of the room. Never mind her boots that still lay abandoned on the floor near the table, or that she doesn't close the door behind her.</p>
<p>Lenore must have felt the change in the air as she's quick to rise from her seat a second later, going to help Lorenzo down from his stool since he clearly isn't able to do so himself. He's babbling now, half apologizing and half rambling, seeming uncertain as to how he was responsible for...whatever that was. Lenore does what she can to soothe him, encouraging him to sit down for the time being.</p>
<p>Lenore gets him into a chair and puts a glass of blood in his hands, making sure he has a solid hold on it before stepping away. "Morana, are you all right?" Because her sister doesn't appear to have moved an inch. "Morana?" Lenore gets a closer look, sees the way Morana seems transfixed on her own door. Then she crosses her arms and raises one rosy brow. "You're not going to swoon, are you?"</p>
<p>"I most certainly am <em>not</em>!" Morana hisses, sharply turning on her. She may be a vampire, but she's far from heartless. Thankfully Lenore seems to comprehend her genuine offense and withdraws.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Striga does everything but sprint back to her apartment, stalking through the halls at a healthy clip. Guards on their rounds make a quick about face to head the opposite direction, one even went so far as to throw up a glamor and disappear entirely -they had more so felt her presence, and readily recognized the danger. As they had learned to do when the king was still alive, they were sure to give the general a wide birth, not knowing she wouldn't have given them any attention to begin with. Her vision is tunneled and her purpose singular, there is no awareness to spare beyond that.</p>
<p>Striga will lock her door with a hard twist of her hand, and for a moment she braces against it, her hands covering her face. Her pulse is so loud -<em>god so loud</em>- and her heart feels like it's threatening to split her sternum.</p>
<p><em>Stop the noise. Stop </em><em><b>that</b></em><em> noise</em>.</p>
<p>One last big breath expands her frame, something she manages to control and let out slowly, all the way until she feels the dull pull of her lungs when they empty. There she holds it, refusing to take in more air and forcing her body to remember that she doesn't <em>need</em> to breathe. Her hands drag away from her face so she can drop her arms, firmly bracing her ribs to keep them where they are.</p>
<p>Slowly, so slowly, her pulse drops, softens, and then disappears. Striga's entire body seems to loosen, her head dropping back against the door with a little thump. Her hand shakes as she covers her eyes; she feels the thick dampness under her palm, swallowing the little shame. Somehow that discomfort helps pull her mind back together, reminds her how to think, and she immediately begins making a list of things she needed to do...first of which being to retrieve her boots.</p>
<p>
  <em>Not now. It can wait. Couldn't stand for anyone to see me now.</em>
</p>
<p>She would be sure to apologize to Morana about littering her well kept quarters, and to Lorenzo for screaming at him when he was just trying to work...to all of them for being such an embarrassment.</p>
<p>
  <em>Then again, maybe Carmilla will hear of this and dismiss me. Go back to the way things were.</em>
</p>
<p>Yes, back with Welsh, with someone who understood this just as much, if not better than she did. Her old lieutenant had her own nightmares, after all. But, in any case, that simply wasn't possible tonight, so Striga would have to make due. That meant doing whatever she could to drown the memories, to shove it all back to the darker reaches of her mind where they belong. And then...tomorrow night would be for apologies.</p>
<p>But tonight is for comfort, for taming herself again, for building a fire for the soothing sound of popping embers and growling flames, and for spinning her ring to help her focus on anything other than the phantom itch of a noose around her neck.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="u">Author's Note:</span> I'm throwing out a lot of headcanons for the council, and I'm trying to come to grips with that. I have confidence issues even though there's not enough canon for me to work against, so I'm going with what I've got and by the seat of my pants. I feel like I need Carmilla to be more present, so maybe she'll have a part in the next chapter, I have yet to decide.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I'm going to try my best to update weekly, but we'll see how that goes. Hope everyone is having fun so far, and a little feedback would be deeply appreciated, even if it's just a pat on the back.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter Four</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Carmilla paces her room slowly, casually, a half filled glass of blood in her hand that she swirls rhythmically as she thinks. Eventually she pauses, half crossing her arms so that her elbow is braced in her empty palm. Her ivory brows knit gently, curiosity turning her expression.</p>
<p>"Could I not just tell the archbishop to go fuck himself?" she muses aloud. As it stands, this has become the bane of her existence as queen; giving the late king's contemporaries and allies official notice of his passing as well as confirmation that she would further uphold his obligations and agreements with them. If she could have her way she would sweep them all up in a maelstrom of violence and consume them whole, take over completely. Oh, to have that power...</p>
<p>"Unfortunately, no." Morana answers plainly. "Until our power structure stabilizes, we don't have the means to fend off a potential assault of such size. So you will have to play nicely and say <em>please</em><span>."</span></p>
<p>
  <span> Carmilla chuckles, mostly in spite of herself, and empties her glass. Still grinning a little she approaches the small table near the window, where Morana sits in the latticed shadows cast by the moonlight spilling through the glass. Carmilla eyes her sister as she refills her cup, that small smirk unwinding while the inquisitive knot in her brow grows; she knows that look, knows Morana is up to her chin with surely countless thoughts that only she can manage as she appears to stare holes into her lap desk. But something about her focus appears...unusually elsewhere. Carmilla says nothing, watches her but a moment more, and then casually slides into the vacant chair across from her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "So...</span>
  <em>please</em>
  <span> go fuck yourself?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Preferably. Though we might want to add 'your eminence' in there somewhere. He's an </span>
  <em>arch</em>
  <span>bishop after all."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Another level, almost rehearsed sounding response. While that is perfectly normal for Morana's brand of humor, Carmilla still senses...</span>
  <em>something</em>
  <span>. Carmilla is eying her again, then "What's on your mind?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "What </span>
  <em>isn't</em>
  <span>?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Fair enough." A little laugh. "Won't you look at me?" Now her tone is soft, sincere, impossible to anyone outside the room. "What is it, Morana?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana lifts her eyes from her lap desk, from the still blank sheet of parchment, to meet Carmilla's gently pleading gaze. She reflexively releases the tension in her brow, not realizing it was there, and settles against the back of her chair with a quick exhale.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Something is worrying you, I can tell." Carmilla crosses her legs, stretching one beneath the table to give Morana a strangely affectionate nudge against her ankle. "Come now, we could always talk."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "I know." Morana smiles at her. "But it's a small matter."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Is it?" Carmilla dares. "Does it have anything to do with the shouting I heard last night?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "So you </span>
  <em>did</em>
  <span> hear that?" Morana had considered it, so she is hardly surprised.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Carmilla give a slow, exaggerated nod. "Is everything all right?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "That's just it, I'm not sure."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Ah." If there is anything Morana hates, it's uncertainty. "What happened?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "I believe..." she pauses to weigh the words. "The general is...troubled."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Soldiers often are." Carmilla's tone is somewhere between somber and indifferent. "The king was."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "As are you." Morana adds gently, expecting and not resenting the sharpness in the queen's eyes. "In fact, I believe her troubles are much like yours." Because Morana knows them, to a point. Knows the terrors when Carmilla sleeps, knows the rage when she's awake. She knows them as a confidant knows anything, just shy of intimately. Just as she knew the king's troubles came from a conscious lack of discipline, a man's knack for violence as a form of control, not simply because he was haunted by things.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "I see." she says after a moment, her gaze dropping to her glass before she empties it again, setting it on the table. "Was anyone hurt?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana shakes her head. "I believe the general had enough presence of mind to realize what was happening and removed herself. Lorenzo was scared witless, but that was the worst of it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Is the general all right?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "I don't know. I thought it best to respect her privacy."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "And that's where your worry is coming from?" Carmilla chances the littlest smirk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Yes, though it's no more worry than I have for you at such times."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> One snowy brow rises suddenly with her gaze. "Indeed?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana feels like she's been caught. Could Carmilla sense that little lie? "What?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Carmilla shifts in her seat and smiles to herself, fangs in full view. "I sometimes forget how soft you can be. You two hardly know each other yet you already care so much."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Naturally." Morana is confident that she recovered well. "I want this alliance to work as much as anyone, if not more so considering the general and I will be working rather closely in the future."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "True enough." that smile unwinds and her expression sobers. "Is there anything I can do to help with the matter?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Once our business here is finished I mean to check on her, I'll know more then, so we shall see." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "I trust you, Morana." Carmilla nods with a sort of finality. "But, with that being said, let us now focus on a way to tell the archbishop where he can shove it </span>
  <em>without</em>
  <span> starting a war."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana can't help but laugh. "In that case, we might want to include Lenore. She's far more skilled with niceties than either of us."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span> As much as she knew the work needed to be done, Morana is happy to be finished with it. Now she's off to her desk to file all these new missives to be sent out, and to return the general's boots if she hadn't retrieved them herself. Part of Morana holds on to the quiet, almost selfish hope that she hasn't. Imagine the brief but flurried pulse she feels when she finds the boots still on the floor beside her table when she enters her apartment. However, like a responsible woman, she'll see that her work is finished first.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana quietly marvels at the heft of the boots, convinced they're a greater size than any shoe she has ever seen a man wear by a considerable degree. Still, she's happy to carry them, folding them over one arm. She thinks herself silly for considering running there -she's been thinking herself silly rather frequently as of late. In the end she'll walk the route with poise and no noticeable hurry, but she keeps catching herself smiling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> As eager as she was to arrive, she pauses at her own sense of anxious hesitation. Would Striga even feel fit for company -even if just for a moment? If Morana chanced to knock, would she just be ignored? She mentally reprimands herself; </span>
  <em>curse this unbeating heart! Think, </em>
  <em>
    <b>think</b>
  </em>
  <em> before you act, woman!</em>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Perfect advice for the next opportunity. But at present, she will press on, accept whatever comes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Naturally, her first thought is to knock, it's only polite after all, and there's little surprise in receiving no answer. A second attempt yielded similar results. After a moment Morana exhales, resigned. Very well, it's probably better to just leave the boots by the door; Striga's sure to find them. Morana takes a step away from the door...and finds herself promptly stopped by something solid pressed against her already straight back. She whips around and away, her leveled gaze finding the dip where collar bones meet beneath unnaturally pale -or naturally, for a vampire- skin. Quickly she tips her chin up to meet exhausted, still noticeably bloodshot eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "I didn't mean to startle you." Striga says softly, taking a half step back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Not at all, general, I didn't realize you were there." she's quick to assure her. "I only wished to return these."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Indeed; I was just at your apartment, actually. Naturally you were not there." Striga nods, then extends her hands. "Thank you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Of course." Morana offers the boots, mentally relishing in the brush of Striga's much larger hands against her own, resisting the urge to grab them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Striga nods again, folding the boots across one forearm and tucking them against her chest. "Also, am I to thank you for the food sent to me earlier?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> If Morana could blush right now, she certainly would. "I </span>
  <em>am</em>
  <span> essentially head of the household, it's my duty to make certain everyone is cared for. I hope it helped."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "It did, and I'm grateful." In truth she had barely picked at the modest assortment, but it was still a kind gesture that she wasn't about to disregard. "Was there anything else? Is there business?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Actually," </span>
  <em>just say it, take the chance.</em>
  <span> "I also wanted to ask...how are you?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Striga blinks, her brow low and creased, curious. "In regards to...?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Last night."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Oh, yes, </span>
  <em>that</em>
  <span>, of course. Sometimes those episodes left her with a sort of mental fog after passing, sometimes she forgets entirely. "Ah...Lady Morana, I must apologize." she exhales, more so deflates. "My behavior was entirely unacceptable, but I assure you it is not a regular occurrence. It will not happen again. And I wish to extend my apologies to the tailor, provided he is still here. I would see him paid more for his trouble as well."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana smiles, one dimple manifesting in her right cheek. "While I appreciate your humility in the matter, that isn't what I meant."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Then,"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "I wish to know how you're </span>
  <em>feeling</em>
  <span>. I want to know if your condition has improved, and in case it hasn't, if there is anything I might do to help."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Those tired eyes widen briefly and Striga's lips part as if to say something, but no words emerge. In fact she appears to stop and start several times, still saying nothing. How do you have an answer for a question no one has ever asked? "I...am managing...I suppose."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Have you slept?" Morana asks, sympathetic.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> There, </span>
  <em>that's</em>
  <span> a question she knows, has rehearsed before. "I have not. It is the way of things sometimes."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "I understand." a slow, singular nod. "Not first hand, but,"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "But?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana takes a moment to consider the words, knowing there are right ones and wrong ones, knowing that it isn't her place to give all the details. "I believe you'll come to find yourself in good fellowship, general. I have no doubt you think the three of us are just...soft nobility, and to a point, you are correct, but you may be surprised after all."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Striga cocks her head in that dog-like way, not necessarily confused, but not wholly certain either. Then she'll shake her head, choosing to put it all away until such time as she has the mental clarity to consider it properly. "I will keep that in mind."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "And, by the same token, should you need anything, anything at all," she means for the this to be the last of it, sensing just how tired Striga must be by now, had she truly gone all day without rest. "Know that my door is always open to you. Even if for nothing more than the sake of quiet company." And she watches closely as Striga's expression becomes softer, though she cannot read further than that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Striga is wrestling with her mind, fatigue proving to be a stalwart opponent. "I...thank you, Lady Morana. You are most kind."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "You are more than welcome. Now, I'll not keep you any longer, though I would at last suggest you get some rest."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> A reflexive nod. "Is there work to do?" she asks again, likely having forgotten that she had already asked before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Nothing that cannot wait another night, I assure you." Morana offers up one last smile, full and sincere though her fangs give it an edge. "Good evening, general."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Good evening." Striga lingers in the hall long enough to unconsciously watch her disappear around the bend, and is then immediately aware of her weariness once again. She all but drags herself back into her apartment, dropping her boots beside the door without another thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> She'll loiter there a moment, seemingly aimless as she spins her ring, a weak attempt to get her focus back. Perhaps it was indeed time for some rest, provided she could find it. Striga's gaze flits to the table, to the tray of leftovers sitting there, and there's blood left in the pitcher; maybe the feeling of a full stomach would help. She perches her massive self on the edge of the table and mindlessly puts food into her mouth, having to consciously focus to work her jaw. For a brief moment she can actually hold a thought, and it's a deep longing for more of the fresh bread that had been provided. She could have easily eaten herself sick on it, as it was a rare treat indeed, even for one who has lived so long -however long that may actually be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Instead Striga is sick on herself, sick of her own weakness and her quiet but persistent fear of sleep. Of dreaming, more precisely, in times like these. And she is sick of the feeling of needing someone, primarily because the one who understands best is not here.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"...you'll come to find yourself in good fellowship, general."</em>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Doubtful, but she can't wholly dismiss Lady Morana's word. There was no need for her to lie, certainly not about such things as these. Still...what would they know? Well, there was a chance Lenore could empathize -Striga knew very little about her in terms of certainty, but her suspicions carried weight. Lenore was certainly ancient, and her eyes gave away some of her truth. Striga had met few other vampires with those eyes, and learned they had come to be in a more...sinister fashion than those simply sired. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Not much unlike herself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Striga scowls like the food has soured in her mouth. She swallows heavily, pushing a hand roughly through her hair and unable to stop from rubbing the mental rawness she feels around her neck. No, no matter their age or the manner of their turning, surely the sisters would </span>
  <em>not</em>
  <span> understand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"Know that my door is always open to you."</em>
</p>
<p>
  <span> A kind offer. Kind words said in a kind way...but, as the lady herself had said, it was her duty to see them all cared for. Just as she claimed to be true to her word, surely she is just as true to the obligations of her station. But that notion doesn't keep Striga from thinking about the coin that still sits atop everything in her chest of possessions, doesn't stop her from disregarding the phantom itch in her neck to pluck it up and turn it over her knuckles. The golden glint is reminiscent of Lady Morana's elegant shawl, her earrings, yet somehow the connection is lost on Striga. Her mind is fogging over again and she decides to allow it. Better to think of nothing at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> That mental oblivion eventually draws her to bed, that is, the rug that she makes her bed, and within the hour she has slipped into a vampire's unique form of sleep with the coin between her fingers. Thankfully there are no dreams.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span> Morana has foregone seclusion in her apartment, finding herself much too excitable for those confining walls. Yes, sometimes her own room feels claustrophobic, so she makes her way to the summit of the palace, it's highest tower, to think and for the rush of having what feels like the entire world spread out before her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> She'll perch on the edge beside clusters of flowering ivy, legs crossed, and she scans the landscape like an owl on its roost. Heavy clouds hang about the peaks, closing in on the palace and likely bringing days of snow; she can't even see the valley from here. Then again, she didn't come here to watch the moon or the clouds or the valley.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana can feel her pulse, like the fluttering of a bird's wings in her chest, and there's the strangest sense of breathlessness in her. She hesitates to call it joy, but she cannot describe it any other way. But why on earth would such a modest encounter elicit such an extreme reaction? Just the brief touch of a hand, just bumping into one another, a moment to speak of things outside of their duties? Morana laughs at herself out loud, shaking her head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>You are a mess.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <span> But a beautiful mess, she considers. It's not often she gets to feel this way, even when she was alive she couldn't remember this sort of rush.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Now, she knows very well that there isn't much to be so excited about; surely Striga took the conversation as her behaving on obligation at worst and simple courtesy at best. Still, this early in the game, as one-sided as the exchange is, Morana was willing to take what she could. She allows herself a moment to dream, to let her mind wander and linger in certain places. On Striga and the weight of her shadow, that stout frame that hadn't budged an inch, and those tired, haunted eyes...what Morana would have given to have been able to comfort her. Even now that desire gnaws away at her, keeps her heart from stilling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> But now her gaze dips down, down, lingering in the paved courtyards below, her brow steadily creasing as she thinks. Her excitement is cooling, her mind working over her heart at last, and she finds herself looking at the matter more critically. She can't help herself, frankly, and she can't help but beg the question: why? Why is everything different now? Where had all these feelings been before? Why was Striga so special? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> The last question is fairly simple; she was like no other woman Morana had ever seen in her more than four hundred years of life. She had seen literal </span>
  <em>hundreds</em>
  <span> of them, from all over the known world, lusted after some of them, even. But not one could compare to Striga. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> So was it just the novelty of her? No, not entirely; Morana refuses to believe herself to be so shallow. Just her appearance, as magnificent as it is imposing, wouldn't warrant such a wrenching need to care, would it? To give comfort or company, when she isn't naturally inclined to do so otherwise? Morana has often thought herself detached from those around her, even as a child, so how could that possibly change if these feelings weren't rooted in something genuine? Surely </span>
  <em>that</em>
  <span> would be enough to alter her very nature?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> As for the other questions, there were so many factors, and the answers may be more simple than she is allowing herself to consider. She hadn't had the time or the liberty to pursue a relationship before now, before the council was formed, not that she had a great many honest prospects either. If it wasn't for her particular preferences, simply having interest enough in someone to consider courting them to begin with was often the nail in the coffin, so to speak.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> But now, </span>
  <em>now</em>
  <span> she is the </span>
  <em>actual</em>
  <span> right hand of the queen. The possibilities are virtually endless. If she only asked, Carmilla could arrange for a line of possible suitors to be outside Morana's apartment door by week's end. Yet, that isn't what Morana actually </span>
  <em>wants</em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> She </span>
  <em>wants</em>
  <span> Striga.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> As much as Morana is a woman of absolutes, never would she have thought herself to endeavor after something so rife with </span>
  <em>chance</em>
  <span>. But, as she had assured herself before, it is worth the risk. For the sake of her own happiness, in spite of the devastation she stood to endure should it fail. It is worth it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>(--)</em>
</p>
<p>
  <span> The following night, things seemed to get back on track. Striga appeared in better spirits and tracked down Lorenzo, who had chosen to stay for the sake of eventually finishing his work, to offer her sincerest apologies in person. It was the honorable thing to do, after all. Seeing as there was no real harm done, Lorenzo was quick to let bygones be bygones, though the promise of extra coin likely encouraged his forgiveness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> With that matter resolved, the general went to Morana with a small list of things; adjustments to her schedule, mostly to arrange for training sessions with Captain Taubert, and to sequester an hour or so for use of the lower courtyard's archery range for herself. Morana </span>
  <em>did</em>
  <span> raise an eyebrow to Striga's only other request -a ten by ten wooden barricade to be installed </span>
  <em>in</em>
  <span> her apartment- but, however curious or unusual she thinks it to be, she doesn't ask. Surely Striga knows what she needs and Morana trusts that, so she arranges the meeting with the castle carpenter and leaves the matter be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana finds herself fawning from afar over the following week, making no attempt to hide it or be ashamed when Lenore catches her. It happens most often when she has shut herself away in her room to work, the quiet doing nothing to stop her mind from wandering away from her duties and leaving her staring through the window for what feels like forever. It's starting to remind her of seemingly so long ago when she first saw Striga, having realized she was indeed a woman. She couldn't focus then either.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Nor could Lenore refrain from teasing her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "It's perfectly understandable." she said, crouching at the foot of Morana's bookshelf, again looking for a new volume to occupy herself. "I mean, </span>
  <em>look</em>
  <span> at her, I should be so lucky to find a man put together so well. But most men like that are fucking brutes."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "True." Morana lilts her head in agreement.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "But Striga seems to actually possess some sort of code of conduct, she holds herself to a standard. She seems very...servicing."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Indeed."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "With that being the case, I imagine she would treat you like a princess."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana's train of thought immediately disintegrates, lost to the sudden, sweetest daydream. She sighs, mostly to herself, but Lenore grins when she hears it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Or her prisoner."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana drops her pen and her face stretches, that delightful figment dashed into something dark and carnal and viciously tempting. When she twists in her seat to look at her sister, her own expression shocked and accusatory, all she finds is a fiendishly smug and toothy smile that reaches Lenore's eyes. Because Lenore knows damn good and well what she has just done, the notions she's stirred in Morana's mind, and it is </span>
  <em>delicious</em>
  <span> to see the normally stable tactician so ruffled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana stops and starts and sputters in an attempt to reprimand her, but only manages a begging question: "Who is minding </span>
  <em>hell</em>
  <span> while you're here?!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Lenore tips back her head and cackles, it gives her a pulse and fills her cheeks with a bright redness. She struggles to collect herself enough to speak, going so far as to fan herself with her hand as she stands up. "Oh my god, you are a delight!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana just scowls at her now, her pupils slitting tightly, almost invisible.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Now, don't be angry with </span>
  <em>me</em>
  <span> just because I made </span>
  <em>you</em>
  <span> learn something new about yourself; we all have fantasies, after all, don't we?" She gets out just a few more giggles before she gets it under control and composes herself. "You know what I think you need, sister dear?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "No, but I suppose you'll tell me." Morana hisses, her feigned smile razor sharp.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "I think you should stop cloistering yourself in her like a nun; if all you're going to do is sit and daydream, you might as well go outside and make the most of it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> That quiet frustration turns to puzzlement. "How do you suppose I do that?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Go watch her." Lenore answers as if it's obvious. "That way you have a reason to stare that no one will ask about."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana's scowling again, though mostly for herself. "No, that's nonsense. I wouldn't want to be a distraction."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "You wouldn't, trust me. She's </span>
  <em>very</em>
  <span> much in her element; I doubt she'd even notice you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana feels a touch of disappointment at the notion. "Thank you, Lenore." She shrugs, turning back to her work as if she means to actually give it proper attention.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Lenore saw her sister's slight pout and can feel the amusement leeching from her own face. "She'll probably be down at the archery range by the time you stop agonizing over it, just in case you were wondering. And </span>
  <em>should</em>
  <span> you manage to drag your Sapphic self down there," she's making for the door, appearing to have foregone borrowing another book, "do tell the general that Carmilla would like for all of us to have dinner in the council room tonight. I think this is her way of fostering that work relationship we all talked about."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Noted."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Lenore's face turns sour as she glares at the back of Morana's head, like all the fun has just been sucked out of the moment. She'll bid Morana good evening and see herself out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> For what feels like a short eternity, Morana simply sits, detesting the fact that she is indeed fulfilling Lenore's little prophecy and actually</span>
  <em> agonizing</em>
  <span> over what to do. Safe to say she wasn't going to get any real work done, not now and certainly not with those </span>
  <em>thoughts</em>
  <span> skirting the edges of her attention -they've given her a pulse and all she can think is </span>
  <em>god damn it</em>
  <span>. She scowls at the window like it's somehow at fault for her troublesome situation, and then shrugs as she slumps against the back of her chair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Lenore was right, she wouldn't deny it, but there were times Morana wanted nothing more than to strangle her over it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span> Striga is fairly certain she was with the Mongols for approximately twenty years, and in that time she learned two particularly absolute truths; one being that the Mongols were surely the finest mounted military in the world, and two being that she would happily take to task anyone who claimed otherwise. And her comparably short time as a member of the king's cavalry only reinforced the idea, convinced her that these westerners could have learned a great deal. The Mongols rode hard and fast in battle, their prowess in mounted archery was second to none, and they saw to it that the vampires in their service learned to do the same. Any time that wasn't spent resting was spent in the saddle, and guard details rotated regularly into training sessions throughout the night to make sure they could keep up with their human cohorts when needed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Striga treasured these skills and did what she could to keep them sharp. It wasn't so simple at the eastern outpost, but she made due. Here, however, she has a generous lane of level ground in the lower courtyard and a suitable number of targets, free to let her horse charge at a full gallop just as she was trained. With her composite bow and several arrows clutched in one hand, she snaps the reins hard with the other and loops them around the saddle horn. She has but a few seconds to lift out of the saddle and knock her first arrow, and does so flawlessly with the most stable hands before pulling to a half draw and letting it fly. A fraction of an inch lower and she would have hit the center, still, she continues down the range unfazed. There are a dozen targets in all, and she'll hit the lot of them before reaching the far end of the range, wheeling her horse around to do it all again with the other hand -turns out, the general is somewhat ambidextrous.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> She'll go back and forth this way until her trio of quivers are empty and she feels satisfied with her performance. She knows there's room for more improvement yet, but compared to when she first began refreshing herself with this extra training, she had made noticeable progress. Striga signals to an attendant, lets the human know she's finished and passing off her quivers so they'll collect the arrows for her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Fantastic shooting, general."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Striga's head immediately whips toward the sound, her expression of mild surprise. "Lady Morana, to what do I owe the audience? Is there business?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "No, I simply came to observe." Morana smiles pleasantly, doing her damnedest to keep it together. It's taking every ounce of conscious thought to look Striga in eyes and not at any other part of her -because she has been unashamedly staring for </span>
  <em>some time</em>
  <span> and is now finding it difficult to stop. "As I said, that was exceptional; I don't believe I've ever seen aim so true at such speeds."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Striga smiles in turn, appearing to do so unintentionally as it stops her from replying, her words tripping over a sort of laugh. "You flatter me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> That reaction is not lost on Morana; she thinks it a priceless clue and mentally tucks it away for later. "Indeed? I imagined a fine warrior like yourself would be accustomed to such praise."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> She clears her throat, shifts in the saddle. "Afraid not."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "A shame, really." Morana lilts her head. "I suppose you'll be meeting with Captain Taubert now?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "No, our time has passed, so I am finished for tonight."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Then perhaps consider freshening up for dinner? Carmilla is expecting us all to dine together in the council room."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Ah, very well, suppose I should. Thank you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana nods and turns away, meaning to start the lengthy walk back to the palace and sort through her feelings and relentless pulse in peace. She wouldn't say she had gotten her reckless want out of her system, but watching Striga had provided a certain relief; seeing the real thing took some of the mystery out of the fantasy and it helped to ground her. Not that reality was so terrible, far from it; that gorgeous mess of raven hair pulled back in the wind, the keen, predatory focus in her eyes, the way the muscles in her neck and shoulders pop when she drew the bow...Morana would probably be back again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Not <b>too</b> soon, of course, wouldn't want Striga getting suspicious...or do I? Isn't that the point? Then what the <b>hell</b> am I doing this for? This is absolute madness, what am I-,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Lady Morana,"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana flinches, her thoughts snapping like a thread at the sound of her name, but the little surprise comes from turning her head towards the sound and finding the long face of Striga's bay horse staring back at her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "My apologies,"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Not at all." she shrugs it off with a little laugh, stroking the animals neck. "Did you need something, general?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "It will be quicker if you ride." Striga says plainly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Her smile widens and she feels her pulse surge briefly. "Are you offering?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "I am." Striga nods and holds out one large hand for Morana to take. Naturally there is no hesitation, and Morana feels but a fraction of Striga's strength in her sufficient grip to pull Morana up and keep her stable as she settles just behind the saddle, both legs to the side. Striga nods at Morana's word of thanks and then gives the horse's side a gentle nudge, setting it on its way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> In the moment, Morana is happy she doesn't need to breathe, because if she did it would be near impossible for her to catch her breath. Her heart lurches behind her ribs with elation and she keeps her bottom lip carefully pressed between her teeth to keep herself from possibly spilling out all the ridiculous things she's feeling right now. She wants to lean against the general's broad back and feel that luxurious looking hair, raven feathers that catch the light of a waning moon and hold her gaze in a vice like grip. Oh, if only for a moment...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Instead she swallows it all down, meaning to savor it later, and tries to distract herself. She's quick to find something. "General,"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Yes?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Do you mean to go so slowly? If so, I could have walked."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "I did not wish to risk throwing you." Striga replies frankly. "I know nothing of your personal experience, of course, but trust me when I say that it isn't pleasant."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "I understand very well, general. However, I am perfectly capable of riding safely at any pace, though your concern is appreciated."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana can't see it, but Striga smirks, one sable brow lifting. "Very well." She doesn't know where the notion comes from, or why she heeds it, but Striga dares to snaps the reigns. "</span>
  <em>Yah</em>
  <span>!" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana </span>
  <em>knows</em>
  <span> how to keep her balance as the horse leans into a gallop, just like she </span>
  <em>knows</em>
  <span> that it would have been more polite otherwise to grip the rear of the saddle, but that certainly isn't what she does; like a reflex, one hand slips around Striga's barreled waist, content to accept whatever consequences come from her impropriety. She is partly disappointed, in some strange, indescribable way, when it turns out that there will not be any.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Striga guides the horse to a smooth stop once they reach the main courtyard, carefully dismounting and once again offering a hand to Morana to help her to her feet. Collecting her bow and quivers, Striga passes the reins to the attendant and starts towards the palace, Morana in tow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Many thanks, general. Not that it needed further proving, but you ride as well as you shoot."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> A flicker of an unintentional smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Reminds me of when we first met."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Did it?" and Striga's expression is a mixture of curiosity and uneasy confusion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana studies the look for a moment. "Do you not remember?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "I am afraid I do not." her answer is a reluctant exhale.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Well, it was </span>
  <em>some</em>
  <span> years ago,"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Would you be willing to refresh my memory? Perhaps over dinner?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana froze in place, just shy of the opening palace doors, her pulse a rapid thunder in her ears. "I-I would be happy to. When?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "...Aren't we about to gather for a meal already?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana blinks. "</span>
  <em>Oh</em>
  <span>, yes, of course you meant </span>
  <em>tonight</em>
  <span>," she laughs at herself and tries not to shake her head as she continues walking. "But yes, I will, provided I can recall it completely myself."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "I have no doubt that you will, you seem like the sort of woman who remembers almost everything. Until then, Lady Morana." Striga dismisses herself with a nod.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana intentionally falls behind and Striga doesn't seem to notice, one watching the other advance resolutely down the corridor and then up the staircase. When Morana is certain she is alone, not even a guard within ear shot, she groans aloud, a lamentation over how she feels like a mess again. "You. Are. </span>
  <em>Hopeless</em>
  <span>." Part of her is convinced Striga must think she's mad after that -</span>
  <em>why on earth would I think for a single instant that she was inviting me to dinner <b>with her</b>?</em>
</p>
<p>
  <span> As she reaches the stairs Morana attempts to rationalize it, telling herself it was a minor mistake because of the general's choice of words, a simple misinterpretation of semantics. She only saw the connotation she was looking for, not what was truly there, and it's a mistake she will be more mindful of making in the future. Besides, there was no evidence to suggest Striga even noticed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Everything is fine, no need to over think it. As it stands, it seems she doesn't even realize you're at the table, waiting to set up the board. Yes, now is the time for missteps, when recovery is easiest.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana nods, reassuring herself, and continues up the stairs.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Author's Note:</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> Ending this chapter there felt a little weird, but I'm still deciding on a scene as to whether or not I actually want to keep it. Partly it feels like needless fluff, since there will be plenty of time for violence later, but, on the other hand, it's another opportunity to make Morana look like the useless lesbian I've turned her into. I don't know. What I do know, is that next chapter, I'll touch on how Morana's great thirst began. It'll probably sound ridiculous, but it's a romance fic, so who cares?</span>
  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>
    <span>Thanks so much for all the wonderful comments and the support, I'm so appreciative. I read each of them, even if I don't respond, so I hear you all and I'm so grateful. Thank you.</span>
  </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter Five</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"So the king is basically interrogating me," Carmilla pauses to empty her glass of wine and fill it up again, "he's bellowing about this duke. And there <em>I</em><span> am in my </span><em>robe </em><span>having just gotten out of bed, and I tell him 'I have no idea where the duke is, but I certainly didn't </span><em>kill</em><span> him'." She laughs at herself, takes another sip. "They never did find the poor bastard."</span></p>
<p>There's laughter from around the table. The dinner quickly became relaxed, almost casual, and somehow the Council of Sisters slipped into a session of swapping stories. A pleasant surprise to be sure.</p>
<p>
  <span> "</span>
  <em>Did</em>
  <span> you kill him, Carmilla?" Striga dares to ask, one raven brow raised to match her smirk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Of </span>
  <em>course</em>
  <span> I did." she admits proudly. "He was trying to rope me into staging a coup, and I'll be damned if I was going to let some short-pricked oaf get in the way of doing it </span>
  <em>myself</em>
  <span>." And Carmilla watches as Striga simply nods, still grinning. "Alright, who's next? Lenore, it's your turn."</span>
</p>
<p>"I'm afraid I'm all out of stories." She sighs, dabbing the edges of her mouth with a napkin.</p>
<p>"Like hell you are." Morana counters. "What about when you wanted a pet bear?"</p>
<p>"That's hardly what you could call a story." Lenore rolls her eyes. "Besides, you all know how it goes."</p>
<p>"I do not; perhaps you could humor me just this once, Lady Lenore?" Striga humbly requests. It's almost childlike, cute even, and Lenore simply can't resist.</p>
<p>"It's really not a story, general, I promise, but since you asked so nicely," Lenore shrugs with a smile, adjusting in her seat to cross her legs and prop up on her elbow. "Point is I had my heart set on a pet bear. So I make my way out into the deep forest, was gone for two nights looking for one, then...I step in a pile of bear shit and promptly decided it wasn't worth it."</p>
<p>"Ah." Striga smiles, almost lights up. "There, Carmilla, you see? The Lady Lenore found the duke after all."</p>
<p>The room erupts with laughter; Carmilla sets her glass down for fear of spilling it, Lenore is all but doubled over the arm of her chair, and Morana keeps one hand firmly over her mouth so she doesn't spit out the wine she is presently fighting to swallow.</p>
<p>
  <span> When she does manage it down her throat, she's sure to let the laughter out. "Such razor wit, general, </span>
  <em>bravo</em>
  <span>!" She sees the way Striga smiles and thinks she would shower her with praise forever so it never fades. "Perhaps </span>
  <em>you</em>
  <span> have a story, then?"</span>
</p>
<p>Striga buzzes her lips, slouches a little. "What few tales I have aren't exactly fit for the dinner table."</p>
<p>
  <span> "Come now, general, we were </span>
  <em>just</em>
  <span> discussing shit," Carmilla reminds her playfully. "Let me reassure you that there are a scant few things not allowed in this room."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Eh, very well." Striga lilts her head and concedes, adjusting in her seat to sit a little straighter. "Well, this isn't so much </span>
  <em>my</em>
  <span> story as it is one that I became a part of. Certainly tame in comparison to yours," she gestures across the table. "Perhaps ten years ago, maybe more, a merchant caravan came to the outpost, first one we'd seen in some time since the plague. They came in the early morning, so I had no idea until after sunset, but Welsh comes crashing in to tell me all about it."</span>
</p>
<p>"A caravan was worth such a fuss?" Lenore asks.</p>
<p>
  <span> "Not so much the caravan as a woman that was with them. Turns out Welsh saw her and became </span>
  <em>helplessly</em>
  <span> smitten from that moment on. So she comes in -I've not been awake for two minutes- carrying on about this woman who I didn't know existed until she said so, all but begging me to convince the merchant to let this woman go."</span>
</p>
<p>"Why would you have to? Even from what little you've told us, the commander sounds capable."</p>
<p>
  <span> "She certainly is, but </span>
  <em>he</em>
  <span> expected to be </span>
  <em>paid</em>
  <span>, and was asking for a rather...sizable sum. Between Welsh and I, we had the money, but those were </span>
  <em>my</em>
  <span> wages after all. So she says-," Striga attempts her best at Welsh's accent, "'I'll fight ya for it! Right now!' So I called her bluff, and the next thing I know she's hurling herself across the room at me."</span>
</p>
<p>Her sisters all make the same shocked and amused face.</p>
<p>
  <span> "Now, you </span>
  <em>are</em>
  <span> referring to Commander Welsh? The one you claim to be </span>
  <em>friends</em>
  <span> with?" Morana chances to ask, smirking. "Because, last I looked, friends didn't resort to fisticuffs."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Haven't you heard, Morana? No more civil communication, we settle these things like </span>
  <em>men</em>
  <span>!" Another round of laughter at Lenore's courtesy. When it settles Lenore continues with "You mentioned that Commander Welsh was married, so I'm assuming she bested you?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Striga smiles and lilts her head. "It wasn't so much about winning and losing, but if it had been, I had decidedly lost. Welsh and I only have three rules: no fangs, no claws, and no furniture, she kept them honestly, yet it was still one of the </span>
  <em>dirtiest</em>
  <span> fights I had ever been in. Bitch broke my jaw </span>
  <em>and</em>
  <span> my nose." Still she says all this with a genuine smile. "Wouldn't let me yield until she plowed me into a tree hard enough to knock it over, pulled the roots up and everything."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "My </span>
  <em>god</em>
  <span>," Carmilla sneers, "and all this over a </span>
  <em>woman</em>
  <span>?"</span>
</p>
<p>Lenore immediately turns to Carmilla and announces her disapproval with a loud raspberry. "Don't interrupt!" and then she whips her attention back to Striga. "What happened next?"</p>
<p>
  <span> "Well, you know; Welsh got what she wanted, and they're happy together. Come to find out the woman was a Witch, and that's why the merchant wanted so much to part with her. Mind you, he hadn't actually expected us to have the money, so I had to...</span>
  <em>encourage</em>
  <span> him to keep his word, but it all worked out."</span>
</p>
<p>Lenore fawns, sighing dreamily. "It's positively storybook."</p>
<p>Morana looks at Striga quizzically, perhaps weighing what she means to ask. "I have to wonder, general, it sounds like you had intended to give Welsh the money regardless."</p>
<p>"Oh? How do you suppose?"</p>
<p>"You said so yourself that it wasn't about winning or losing. Then why get your nose broken over it? What else could you have meant?"</p>
<p>
  <span> "Ah, I see. In that case, you've caught me. Of course I was going to give it to her, she is my friend, but I needed to know she was sincere. I needed </span>
  <em>her</em>
  <span> to be certain, and if a good ass-kicking doesn't help you realize those sorts of things, well...I don't know what does."</span>
</p>
<p>"Look here, sisters, our dear general is a big softy." Lenore teases, feeling like it's almost her duty seeing as she was the resident bleeding heart among them.</p>
<p>
  <span> "I do </span>
  <em>not</em>
  <span> need another romantic in this castle." Carmilla rolls her eyes, helps herself to more wine.</span>
</p>
<p>"Carmilla, surely you can consider that everyone deserves a chance to chase their happiness, especially those we care about." Striga counters gently.</p>
<p>"I'll get back to you on that, general." she responds flatly.</p>
<p>"Very well, if it pleases you." And Striga concedes. "Now, I believe it is the Lady Morana's turn."</p>
<p>"It is." Morana can feel Striga's eyes on her and can't muster up the courage to meet that gaze immediately. She is still processing everything she can and could take from Striga's surprisingly touching tale. "And I haven't forgotten our earlier conversation."</p>
<p>"Excellent, I'll admit I've been rather eager to hear this."</p>
<p>
  <span> "Hear </span>
  <em>what</em>
  <span>?" Lenore's crimson eyes are alight with intrigue.</span>
</p>
<p>"The good lady claims to recall a meeting between us prior to my recent return to the castle and has offered to jog my memory." All this time Striga has been watching Morana, and Morana has yet to look up and address her in turn. It's curious, but not enough to beckon a question.</p>
<p>
  <span> "It was a number of years passed, decades even." Morana admits. "It was the waning weeks of the eastern expansion, during what was likely the last of the king's major maneuvers against the Hungarians."</span>
</p>
<p>"So long ago?" Striga asks, sounding genuinely surprised. Though she cannot decide if her shock is from having forgotten, or that Morana had bothered to remember.</p>
<p>Morana just nods. "The king had grown considerably confident, having suffered very few and minimal losses up to this point, and he thought for sure this last big push would be enough to end the conflict. And the king, as he was often want to do, thought to relish in what was his most certain victory by dragging his entire advisory cabinet out to the battlefield to bear witness."</p>
<p>"Oh god, I remember that." Lenore withers, looking disgusted. "Stupid old man."</p>
<p>"Had I the luxury, I likely would have told him the same thing." Morana agrees.</p>
<p>
  <span> "Ah yes, </span>
  <em>this</em>
  <span> I remember." Striga nods. "And, to tell the truth, I said the same thing to his face, but I couldn't speak Latin at the time so I assumed he didn't understand." Though some of her subordinates </span>
  <em>did</em>
  <span>, and they had confessed to having to resist the urge to laugh.</span>
</p>
<p>"Not that he would have listened." Carmilla adds bitterly.</p>
<p>"In any case, myself and the other ministers were left at camp to simply wait until the king's triumphant return. It was such nonsense." Morana waves one hand, dismissive. "Now, the rest of the story comes partly second hand, as I did not witness the following events myself; according to what I was told, a small detachment of Hungarian soldiers had slipped around the king's forces and was looking to ambush the camp. But, thankfully, we were evacuated at the last moment by some of our own cavalry." And Morana casts a particular look towards Striga, feeling a quiet elation as those brilliant green eyes come to life with realization after a few seconds.</p>
<p>"Yes, I remember!" Striga is visibly excited, smiling and gesturing with her hand. "I remember! My company held back as reinforcements, and one of my scouts spotted the Hungarians advancing on the camp!" then she stops, realizing what she's doing, and doubles back, "but, please continue, Lady Morana. Apologies for interrupting."</p>
<p>"It's quite all right." Morana smiles easily, ignoring the brief fluttering behind her ribs. "So, it's the dead of night, we can certainly hear the battle going on from where we are, but then it's drowned out by shouting and the commotion of horses. This soldier bursts into the tent, shouting for us to get out and ushering us outside -no explanation or direction as to what we were meant to do afterwards.</p>
<p>"Now, we had all ridden to the camp on our own horses, but the powers that be must have thought there was no time for that, and we were snatched up by our cavalrymen and spirited away to safety."</p>
<p>
  <span> Lenore shifts in her seat, leaning against the table with both hands, giving Morana her undivided attention. "Is this story going where I think it's going? </span>
  <em>Please</em>
  <span> tell me it is,"</span>
</p>
<p>"Where do you think it's going?" Striga asks frankly, one brow up.</p>
<p>"The general grabbed you up that night, didn't she?" Lenore even goes so far as to point an almost accusatory finger at Morana, still smiling like a fool, all teeth and intrigue.</p>
<p>Now Striga looks at Morana as well. "Did I?"</p>
<p>"You did." and she isn't so sure what to make of the way Striga's expression stretches. Poor woman looks a little worried. "Do you still not recall?"</p>
<p>"I, uh," Striga pushes a hand through her hair, "how did you know it was me?"</p>
<p>"I recognized your voice. Mind you, I had no idea what you were shouting about, but still,"</p>
<p>
  <span> "Isn't </span>
  <em>that</em>
  <span> a nice how-do-you-do?" Carmilla cuts a felid grin. "Not what I would call a proper introduction,"</span>
</p>
<p>"Not one she'd soon forget, either." Lenore agrees, giving Morana a knowing look. "<em>Clearly</em>."</p>
<p>Striga chuffs, slumping in her seat and starting to spin her ring. "Next time I'll be sure to stop and convince the enemy troops to hold off until I can greet them all before saving their lives. And I beg the Lady Morana's forgiveness for my impropriety."</p>
<p>
  <span> "I'll take being grabbed by the ass over being dead any night, but I appreciate your honesty, general." Morana is fretting quietly again as Striga seems to force her focus on her ring. Had she taken this conversation too far? Said too much?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "If you didn't make such an effort to refuse wearing a dress when you're doing field work, I'd imagine we would be hearing a </span>
  <em>completely</em>
  <span> different story."</span>
</p>
<p>Striga's gaze cuts to Lenore and she straightens. "Just what are you suggesting?" her tone has sharpened, gained noticeable weight.</p>
<p>
  <span> Lenore must have felt it, the change in the energy of the room, and even if she hadn't, she saw the change in Striga's demeanor very well. She withdraws slightly, some of the amusement in her face waning. "I was just alluding to Morana's particularity about being...</span>
  <em>handled</em>
  <span>, so to speak -a particularity I'm sure </span>
  <em>all four of us</em>
  <span> share. I thought for a moment this story might end in a fight. I meant no insult."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Of course you didn't." Morana chimes in. "Because General Striga has done </span>
  <em>more</em>
  <span> than enough to prove she's an honorable woman, and not some barbarian who would stoop so low as to take advantage of someone in need."</span>
</p>
<p>"Hmph, depends if I've fed enough or not." Striga's little laugh breaks some of the tension in the room. "But I'm grateful for the vote of confidence. I have killed my own men for such behavior and I refuse to shoulder the hypocrisy of doing such grotesque things myself."</p>
<p>Lenore's smile is back. "Looks like Carmilla went and found our council an actual knight in shining armor."</p>
<p>"It was Morana's idea, but I'll happily take the credit." Carmilla nods, raising her glass.</p>
<p>Morana briefly catches Striga's gaze, unable to decipher the nature of it before her own drops with a lilt of her head. "What can I say, I was impressed by the general's performance." and it comes out easily in spite of being only half of the truth.</p>
<p>
  <span> "You were </span>
  <em>literally</em>
  <span> swept off your feet; I don't know if </span>
  <em>impressed</em>
  <span> is a strong enough word." And Lenore simply continues with her sickle of a smirk when Morana casts her eyes at her -if looks could kill, Lenore would surely be dead.</span>
</p>
<p>Striga sees this, how they're communicating without actually saying anything, and wonders if perhaps there's more to this whole conversation than she realizes. "Let's not argue," she says.</p>
<p>"Indeed, you're killing my buzz." Carmilla laments.</p>
<p>"At this point I'm fairly certain you're buzzed enough for all four of us, Carmilla." Morana prods. "Maybe you should put the bottle down now."</p>
<p>"Perhaps you should try to make me, sister dear, and see what happens."</p>
<p>"Here's that fight you were waiting for, Lenore." Striga chuckles. "Do you gamble, perchance?"</p>
<p>
  <span> "I certainly </span>
  <em>do</em>
  <span>."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There would be no coming to blows in the end, which was probably for the better. Lenore seemed disappointed enough to excuse herself, though she claimed it was in order to tend to her pets. Striga will linger only a little longer, slow to realize that perhaps she's had her fill of socializing for tonight. Morana wants to follow her, but waits a moment, making sure Carmilla will be all right if left to her own devices. Carmilla assures her in a well rehearsed way that "this bottle is the last one" and that she'll be just fine, holding her hand briefly and giving Morana a sweetly lopsided smile while wishing her goodnight.</p>
<p>Out in the hallway, Morana pauses long enough to listen for footsteps, picking up on the rhythm of heavy boots fairly easily. Her pace is quick and light, almost walking on her toes in an unconscious effort to hide her own steps, and in no time at all she can see Striga striding down the corridor ahead of her.</p>
<p>Striga stops and half turns at the sound of her name, mildly curious to see Morana advancing somewhat quickly towards her. "Is something wrong?"</p>
<p>"Not at all," Morana answers when she's closer, "I was only hoping we might talk some more. I," she feels she has to chance it, "I've found that I enjoy your company."</p>
<p>
  <span> One sable brow rises. "Indeed? Well, with all due respect, I don't believe I have much conversation left in me. Gatherings like that tend to be rather draining, and I mean to retire for the night."</span>
</p>
<p>"Oh, perhaps another time then?"</p>
<p>Striga thinks, unsure exactly what she is considering in regards to such a black and white matter, and then shrugs. Something about the look on Morana's face makes her concede. "You may walk with me if it pleases you, though I intend to part ways at my door."</p>
<p>"Of course, thank you."</p>
<p>And Striga can't help but wonder, as they settle into a slow, steady pace beside one another, why granting such a simple request would make Morana smile like that. She thinks to ask, but the notion is short lived.</p>
<p>"I'm happy to see you're beginning to settle in here, general." Morana says. "And you're wearing the ring,"</p>
<p>"Hm? Ah, yes," Striga absently touches the token tied into her hair.</p>
<p>"It suits you."</p>
<p>"I suppose. I thought to put it in my ear, as you have, but then I didn't want to risk losing it." Now she taps her left ear, where there's an obvious wedge of skin missing.</p>
<p>"It seemed rude to ask before." Morana admits. "It must have happened while you were still alive."</p>
<p>"It did, a minor accident, but it was enough to keep me away from piercings for good." A chesty chuckle. "I suppose I'm trying to make the most of this new position of mine. I must confess I've never been quick to change, even under ideal circumstances."</p>
<p>"Well, rest assured that I see your efforts. You seemed very relaxed tonight, you even called Lenore by her first name."</p>
<p>"Oh? Well, I'll be sure to extend my apologies the next time I see her. I hadn't meant to do it,"</p>
<p>"Knowing Lenore, she'll likely start bragging to us about it. She probably thinks you like her better."</p>
<p>"Lenore is not...entirely obnoxious." Striga smirks when Morana laughs. "Though she does revel in getting under others' skin."</p>
<p>
  <span> "She </span>
  <em>lives</em>
  <span> for it. Speaking of which, I hope I hadn't offended you tonight."</span>
</p>
<p>"Hm?" Striga actually looks at her, part of her needing to be sure she's serious. "Not at all. You were merely telling the truth. I just," she has to think of the right way to say this, since it isn't easy to say to start with. "My memory -or lack thereof- is a...personal matter, and struggling with it is...difficult. Still, perhaps I should be the one apologizing."</p>
<p>"I can't imagine why,"</p>
<p>Striga cocks her head and side-eyes the smaller woman. "I distinctly remember you said that I had grabbed your ass."</p>
<p>"I did." Morana nods once, one dimple manifesting but hidden from Striga's view.</p>
<p>"Then I believe an apology is in order."</p>
<p>
  <span> "Did I ask for an apology?" Morana feels her ribs clench the instant the words leave her mouth and does her best to hide it. </span>
  <em>Oh god, what have I done? Why would I say that? It's the </em>
  <em>
    <b>wine</b>
  </em>
  <em>! That's it, never again! Oh no, I've ruined everything, she isn't saying anything...</em>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Striga hears the question echoing in her mind, truly baffled by it. What sort of response is that? If she didn't know any better, she would think the good Lady Morana was trying to </span>
  <em>flirt</em>
  <span>. Lunacy, to be sure. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Then Morana begins to laugh. "I'm sorry, I believe I've had too much to drink. What I </span>
  <em>meant</em>
  <span> is that I am not </span>
  <em>demanding</em>
  <span> an apology. There was no real harm done, and I have perfect confidence that you had no intention of causing any. Not to mention that you </span>
  <em>did</em>
  <span> save my life."</span>
</p>
<p>Striga just hums and nods, accepting her line of logic seeing as she has no real room to argue.</p>
<p>
  <span> "In truth, the only enmity I have about the matter is that I feel I have yet to properly thank you. Now that I actually have the opportunity, I would like to make good on it."</span>
</p>
<p>"Well," Striga considers it a moment, her brow knitting tightly. "I was only doing my duty, I expect nothing in return. Plus, that engagement was pivotal to my promotion, so I could be content with that."</p>
<p>"I remember that conversation with the king, I believe he did it because he was afraid of you. He wanted you as far away from him and his crown as possible." And why not? He knew she wanted it to some extent -had accepted a duel with the throne on the line- and had so easily turned her men to act against direct orders, regardless of the reason. That sort of power would make any ruler sweat.</p>
<p>"Is that so?" she nods again. "Can't say I'm surprised. I tend to have that effect on people."</p>
<p>
  <span> "In any case, that was the </span>
  <em>king's</em>
  <span> idea,</span>
  <em> this</em>
  <span> is a matter between you and </span>
  <em>I</em>
  <span>."</span>
</p>
<p>"It sounds as though you have made up your mind." Striga smirks at her. "And far be it for me to stand between the good lady and her satisfaction."</p>
<p>Morana loved the way she said that, probably more than she should have. "Ask anything of me and you shall have it."</p>
<p>"All I can consider is a favor in kind. A life for a life, and the matter is settled." Though she had no illusions about actually seeing the deal squared. Even in her wildest dreams Striga can't conjure a scenario where Morana would be all that stood between herself and oblivion. Still, accepting the terms appeared to please her, and for some reason that pleased Striga as well.</p>
<p>"So be it."</p>
<p>They could have walked and talked for hours without pause, and still Morana would insist that reaching Striga's apartment came far too soon. She is loathe to bid the general goodnight, but does so anyway without letting it show. For a moment she lingers outside the door, effectively shut out, thinking herself as rather pathetic for doing so.</p>
<p>
  <em>Infatuation makes you feel strange things and think strange thoughts. You're not pathetic, you're just a woman.</em>
</p>
<p>Indeed. Just a woman who needs to return to her room and find a way to distract herself if she ever hoped to get any sleep today.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Once behind closed doors, Striga releases what sounds like a too-long withheld shrug. She's exhausted and glad to have her solitude again. But, as tired as she feels, sleep may be a ways off yet. At present, she's more baffled than drowsy, which is baffling in and of itself.</p>
<p>
  <span> Looking back on tonight feels a little surreal as Striga mindlessly paces her room for several minutes. Just...what the hell </span>
  <em>was</em>
  <span> all that? Striga is confident that she had been able to keep pace with her sisters for the most part, but after a fashion it felt like there was some sort of secret going around the table that she could only sense and not decipher. Like a joke that you don't realize you're the butt of. Striga was so accustomed to plain-speaking people saying what they meant and that being the end of it...was she just being needlessly suspicious? No, clearly they were all in on something that Striga was not, but that didn't necessarily mean it was about </span>
  <em>her</em>
  <span> personally.</span>
</p>
<p>Yes, that was more likely. The three of them had been working together for decades, maybe centuries at this point, no doubt they had their own little codes and tells. Perhaps, given time, they would be willing to share.</p>
<p>
  <em>Morana was right. You're settling. Maybe that's for the better.</em>
</p>
<p>Settling, yes. Relaxed, as she had said earlier, giving little bits of trust here and there like offerings at an altar for the council's consideration. So far, what little she had relented had been deemed acceptable, and her sisters appeared comfortable enough to share certain secrets -not that Carmilla having killed anyone was much of a secret, but it's something to announce as much out loud.</p>
<p><em>"I've found that I enjoy your company."</em> <em>That</em><span> had sounded like a secret, too.</span></p>
<p>
  <span> Striga pauses and turns, looking towards the table and the glint of gold in the open chest of things. Without a thought she pics the coin up and rolls it across her knuckles, the action starting to feel as natural as spinning her ring. Now the words are echoing in her mind, unconsciously being weighed and examined. It had indeed sounded like a secret, but Striga can't help but wonder why something so innocuous would be considered confidential. Wasn't it a good thing? Weren't they meant to work together to run this country? So why had there been the slightest hesitation in Morana's voice when she said it?</span>
</p>
<p>Perhaps, Striga considers, that it had been Morana's way of showing her trust. She seemed to be a no-nonsense sort of woman, objective, and therefore capable of executing her duties regardless of personal notions. Maybe that display of vulnerability was meant to convey her own offering. And maybe she and Striga weren't so dissimilar after all in that regard.</p>
<p>Striga lets the idea sit in the back of her mind for now, where it will eventually gain the weight of whatever truth it holds, and she returns to examining the rest of the conversations that had carried on over dinner, primarily the story she still only half remembers being part of.</p>
<p>
  <span> That night had been so long ago by her own reckoning, then again her grasp of the passage of time is shoddy at best. She remembers events, people, places and feelings, yet her mind was seemingly without the space to properly file them in reference to the span of time that relates them. In any case, Striga remembers </span>
  <em>parts</em>
  <span>, and is fairly certain she remembers them in proper order, but none of it can either confirm or deny Morana's presence there. It had happened so fast, and with the absence of light, everything was washed gray and black so there was no way to spot that lush brown hair or her bright blue eyes. But Striga </span>
  <em>does</em>
  <span> remember riding up to that camp, watching the advisers come barreling out, and reaching down to grab up the closest one to her. For the sake of expediency she had simply draped them across her lap and rode on, much more concerned with the Hungarians closing in. Had that really been Morana?</span>
</p>
<p>If so, Striga shyly admits to herself, with a nod and an indulgent smirk, that she <em>did</em> have a rather nice ass. Then Striga laughs, knowing it isn't appropriate to have such thoughts about her colleague. She still feels a touch of amazement that Morana hadn't been upset.</p>
<p>
  <em>She has enough sense to know there's nothing to do about it now, I suppose. She even defended me. She was the one who nominated me to the council. Wonder why. There are plenty of officers with more experience than me, better service records no doubt. Was she just playing to Carmilla's insistence on her inner circle being made up of solely women?</em>
</p>
<p>Seems like the only reason. What other reasons could there be?</p>
<p>
  <em>Maybe...is she Sapphic?</em>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Not that the Lady Morana's preferences where any of </span>
  <em>her</em>
  <span> business, so she is quick to push that notion away. Though, if she was, that could explain </span>
  <em>numerous</em>
  <span> things.</span>
</p>
<p>Striga buzzes her lips with a dismissive shake of her head and rolls the coin only a moment longer before tossing it back in the open box and starting to ready herself for bed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Author's Note:</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> This chapter felt a little strange, but I still accomplished most of what I wanted to do with it; Striga's getting suspicious and Morana is becoming too impatient for her own good. I think next chapter I'm going to push forward with more active growth between Striga and Morana, in so far in that the next few chapters will probably be broken up into moments that take place over a not so concretely discernible period of time. A lot of conversations, because that's how relationships grow, right? Thanks for all the support and feedback, folks, always appreciated, but I could always use a little more.</span>
  </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter Six</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Another week has passed.</p><p>Morana had made time to do a considerable amount of reflection over the last few days, namely coming to terms with the fact that she simply <em>could not</em> have so much as a <em>drop</em> of alcohol again until this matter has resolved -for better or worse. She couldn't run the risk of possibly ratting herself out, and just the few drinks she had that night at their communal dinner had loosened her better sensibilities far beyond her comfort.</p><p>Aside from that, she has examined the situation as it stands, taken into account what little she feels she has learned and what great amount of assumptions she still holds, and has come to a decision. Perhaps it was time to be more active in her pursuit. Perhaps now, with a gentle hand, she could try to guide Striga to the table and set up the board.</p><p>In the meantime, Morana slips herself into a routine that keeps her within Striga's sphere of influence whenever possible. Of course, Morana did not ignore her work; she was disciplined enough to keep her duties as her top priority. Outside of that, however, Morana makes a conscious effort to keep near the general, regardless of whether or not they even spoke. She just feels the need to be present, to let Striga grow accustomed to her proximity and start fostering an unconscious comfort of them simply existing in the same space.</p><p>Morana decides to start sitting in on Striga's archery training and her sessions with Captain Taubert. She occasionally brings her lap desk along if her work carries on too long to do without, and to disguise just how much she enjoys watching the general work. Part of her entertains the idea of what Striga must have like looked while alive, hair tied in a half tail, sweating and flushed and beautiful, makes her wonder what color her lips had once been. Such fantasies help remind Morana that her reckless want is far from under control and that she needed to do better.</p><p>But this strategy also reveals other things, lets Morana learn more. It gives her a glimpse of a side of Striga that she could never hope to see beneath the general's knee-jerk etiquette when around her and the rest of the council.</p><p>After nearly two weeks, Striga and Captain Taubert have a natural sort of ease around one another. Striga is picking up bits and pieces of the captain's dialect at lightning speed, almost negating the need for an interpreter, and readily yields to Taubert's critiques throughout their sessions -something Morana knows her fellow officers would be loathe to do on the standard occasion, much less in regards to taking direction from a woman. Striga takes blows in stride, viewing them as moments to learn. Taubert put her soundly on the ground while demonstrating a not so new technique, as a means of checking the general's retention, and all Striga could do was laugh out loud as she lay there. Striga then proceeded to jump right back up and demand another go. Seeing such humility in someone of such stature, strength, and obvious ability as Striga is profoundly refreshing.</p><p>Now, out in the main courtyard, they swear at each other and laugh with an unspoken, mutual respect. Morana cannot help but acknowledge her quiet jealousy, not just for that easy fellowship, but for what it must be like to feel those big hands gripping her own with such intent. Morana realizes she pays Striga's hands an unholy amount attention rather often. Unholy, for multiple, but far from surprising reasons.</p><p>"How's the pining going?"</p><p>Morana feels the smallest jolt at the question, clearly being so invested in said pining that she hadn't heard Lenore approaching, but she doesn't let it translate into a physical tell and holds her position on the small wooden stool she occupies. "More manageable, thankfully." she replies, perfectly poised. "Did you need me for something?"</p><p>"Not you, but the general. She has a guest."</p><p>"Oh?" Morana looks at her sister who is just beside her, her brow knit and asymmetrical. "Who?"</p><p>"A Commander Lietzen." Lenore says plainly, glancing over her shoulder to see the man advancing on her. "Came without summons or announcement and claims to have rather pressing business. He's not very happy, either."</p><p>"The name sounds familiar...what business?"</p><p>"He has yet to say, though I have asked. I don't think he realizes who I am." and she gives Morana a sly, knowing look.</p><p>"Hm. This should be interesting then."</p><p> </p><p>Their training session ends with a handshake and a broken back-and-forth as Striga tries again to say the right words the right way to show her gratitude in Taubert's own language for the lesson. The ever-patient captain smiles and gently corrects her, showing that she still understood what Striga meant before bowing out. Striga returns the gesture before smoothly sliding her longsword back into its sheath on her hip with a hiss of leather on steel and roughly smoothing her hand across the top of her head.</p><p><em>There's Morana, back again.</em> The most brief, unconscious smile that drops when she acknowledges Lenore and a man she doesn't readily recognize. Then she sees his face when he turns his head, her brow lowering heavily over her eyes as she starts to walk towards the three of them. She mostly remembers having mentally marked a description of his face as simply <em>punchable</em>. She feels an instinctive need to bare her teeth when he raises his voice.</p><p>"My business is with General Striga <em>only</em>, and I demand to speak with him <em>now</em>." and he punctuates his words with a shake of his fist that he keeps at his belt, too close to his sword truth be told.</p><p>Both Morana and Lenore appear to be ready to respond, but they know Striga is near and catch themselves. The dwindling moonlight casts that heavy shadow very well as the general comes to stand beside her sisters. "Then speak." she says plainly.</p><p>Lietzen gawks at her, eyes skimming up -<em>way up</em>- and down while his jaw hangs stupidly. "<em>Excuse</em> me?"</p><p>"<em>I</em> am General Striga. State your business."</p><p>Now his dark eyes flit from one sister to another. "Is this a <em>joke</em>? This," he gestures unsteadily with his other hand, "<em>Surely</em> this is a joke!"</p><p>"Just what are you implying, commander?" Morana asks firmly.</p><p>"That this...<em>she </em>cannotbe a general!"</p><p>"Yet here we are." Striga says quickly but still calmly, sensing her sisters' intent to intervene. No, this was hers to do. "Now, what do you want?"</p><p>He stumbles on his words, several fumbling attempts to get the words out. "I'm here to protest my demotion." This time he had taken some care to police the volume of his voice.</p><p>"Ah, yes. So it is <em>Lieutenant</em> Lietzen, at present." a part of her loves to watch him squirm. "Does your commanding officer know you're here?"</p><p>"I," he pauses abruptly, looking puzzled by the question. "N-no, I came of my own volition."</p><p>"You're aware that the notice regarding your demotion did not outline an opportunity for appeal?"</p><p>"I-yes, but-,"</p><p>"And that the same notice very clearly described the reasons behind my decision?"</p><p>"Y-yes-,"</p><p>"Then what-,"</p><p>"The review was conducted improperly! I was given no warning! We have a way of doing things! Procedures!"</p><p>"Yes, we do, most of which you deliberately ignored in order to be standing here now." there's an audible force behind her words now, albeit minor. "Clearly my decision was well founded, and it is <em>final</em>, lieutenant."</p><p>"Then I demand to speak with the queen!" his heel jerks and smacks the flagstones, as if he had meant to stomp his foot with frustration but stopped himself at the last second.</p><p>"No." Striga responds frankly.</p><p>"What do you mean, <em>no</em>?" he sneers, his fangs showing.</p><p>"Exactly as I said."</p><p>"On whose authority?!" he cries.</p><p>"On my own, as a member of the council."</p><p>"<em>You</em>?!" Lieutenant Lietzen is gaping again, apparent fury lacing through his disgust. "Some heathen-reared <em>feral</em>?" His eyes cut to Lenore and Morana again. "Are you serious?!"</p><p>Funnily enough, all three sisters are now making the exact same face; eyes set severe and judging, one brow raised. All three of them, wholly unimpressed -though Morana feels she is <em>this close</em> to vivisecting the little bastard where he stands. She considers doing it anyway, even if the general sees fit to spare him.</p><p>Striga then takes one long, smooth step forward, placing herself uncomfortably close to Lietzen, so close that he has to straighten -stand up like an officer <em>should</em>. Now he has a flawless gauge of her stature, and while he looks to be putting on a defiant face as his head tips back so far that his Adam's Apple juts forward, Striga can hear his heart starting to clench.</p><p>"You march yourself in here unannounced, deserting your post, misrepresent yourself to not one <em>but three</em> members of the council, blatantly ignore the chain of command and insult me to my face, all the while throwing a tantrum, and yet you seem surprised when my sisters and I refuse to accommodate you. Even with all that to hold against you," And her brief pause all but dares him to interrupt her again, a small part of her disappointed when he doesn't. "I will give you this <em>one</em> opportunity to make the better choice."</p><p>"I-I'm not afraid of you!" his voice breaks.</p><p>She doesn't move, doesn't respond in any way, an obvious sign that she simply did not care.</p><p>Perhaps it was her silent yet stalwart insistence that made him break. Little by little, his obstinance crumbles and he seems to shrink, dropping his chin and his gaze as he withdraws by a half step. He swallows hard enough to be heard, and then manages to raise his eyes in a way that looked more like a sulking child than a soldier.</p><p>"A thousand pardons, g-general. I shame myself."</p><p>"Indeed you have."</p><p>"And a thousand more to the Sisters, I was not aware."</p><p>Striga chances to look to Lenore and Morana, see if they're satisfied with his piss poor excuse. Both of them lilt their heads in a hauntingly synchronized way, appearing to yield to her discretion.</p><p>"Now back to your post, lieutenant. Perhaps take time to reflect on behavior more becoming of an officer in service to the crown."</p><p>"Yes, general." he salutes her with an arm across his iron clad chest, and leaving it there, offers a bow to the other Sisters before turning on his heel to make a hasty exit.</p><p>Striga watches him until he's out of sight before taking a deep, chest filling breath and letting it out. "Do my sisters approve?" she asks.</p><p>"That was far less...<em>messy</em> than I anticipated." Lenore confesses, her grin a mixture of amusement and disappointment. "But masterfully handled all the same, general."</p><p>"And you, Lady Morana?"</p><p>"I'm surprised you didn't kill him." her response is towing the line of a growl. "He had some nerve insulting you like that."</p><p>"It's a small matter. I'm sure he earned his rank for good reason, and hope this opportunity will help him remember that. However, rest assured that if I see him again under similar circumstances, he will not be walking away from it."</p><p>"Then you have greater patience than I, general." and seeing Striga's little, too brief smile kills a little of her fury. But only a little, and it is likely to hang on her mind for hours longer yet. Perhaps a distraction was in order, unless she wanted to spend the rest of her night needlessly fuming. It's a notion she contemplates heavily when she and her sisters return to the palace.</p><p>By the time they reach the top of the staircase, where they all intended to go their separate ways, she has an idea, and her heart clenches in anticipation.</p><p>Morana hesitates, almost allowing Striga to put what she feels is too much distance between them before she is able to speak up. "General?" Some of the anxiety ebbs when Striga stops and half turns to acknowledge her. "Have you any plans for the remainder of the night?"</p><p>Brows up, clearly curious, "I suppose you would know that better than I."</p><p>Morana can't help but laugh. "True enough, but there is no business, if that's what you're suggesting."</p><p>"Then no, I do not."</p><p>"Perhaps...would you consider dinning with me?" and she feels like her heart is dangling from a thread, threatening to plummet into her stomach at the surprise that flickers across Striga's face. "In the spirit of friendship,"</p><p>Striga's expression morphs into something thoughtful. "<em>Are</em> we friends, Lady Morana?"</p><p>While the question is unexpected and feels heavy with something she can't presently discern, Morana is true to form in delivering an answer. "I would like an opportunity to see if we could be. Provided that is agreeable to you." And she holds her breath, figuratively speaking.</p><p>"Very well, I accept." Striga says at last.</p><p>"Excellent." Morana can't stop the smile that reaches her eyes -she had to let some of the joy out or she would surely burst at the seams. "Is two hours long enough for you to prepare?"</p><p>"More than enough. Until then." and she offers Morana a nod to excuse herself, continuing down the corridor.</p><p>Morana lingers, all too aware of the thrumming behind her ribs and the sudden feeling of surreality that's surrounding her. Did she really just do that? And had Striga <em>really</em> agreed? If she didn't know any better, Morana would think she was about to faint.</p><p>"Nice recovery."</p><p>Morana <em>refused</em> to jump again, but it was hard to restrain. Instead she turns in a quick instant, lips tight and thin with waning tolerance. "Lenore,"</p><p>"I don't mean to sound teasing, promise." the smaller sister puts up her hands in feigned surrender. "I'm actually impressed with how easy you made that seem."</p><p>Morana's answer is a lilt of her head and deep breath, hoping that was enough for Lenore to understand how easy it <em>wasn't</em>. Curiosity skews Morana's face when Lenore smiles all-teeth as she approaches and takes Morana by both hands.</p><p>"Let's get along then." and Lenore starts to gently pull her until Morana stumbles forward.</p><p>"W-what are you talking about?"</p><p>"We're going to need those two hours to get your head on straight."</p><p>"What do you mean <em>we</em>?"</p><p>"Oh, my sweet sister," Lenore sighs, "you don't think I would abandon you now?"</p><p>"I'm not so helpless, you know." Morana grumbles.</p><p>"I am <em>very</em> well aware, but there's a <em>science</em> to this sort of thing. We need to take everything you've learned so far and put it to the most effective use."</p><p>And while Morana knows Lenore means to be encouraging, she can't help but worry over what she actually has in mind.</p><p> </p><p>Striga gives it no conscious thought as she returns to her quarters, doesn't take notice of how her brow is knit or how her pace has quickened with a mote of purpose. She doesn't notice how she's suddenly critical of the state of her room, which isn't disorderly by any standard, and goes about straightening up. She finally decides to get her chest of things off the table, dropping it at the foot of her bed where it's out of the way before unstrapping her sword from her waist to drop inside of it. She'll push all the chairs at the common table in and grab up some of the stray articles of clothing laying around the room. Suppose it was time to have them laundered again. By the same token she goes hunting for something clean to change into. Striga doesn't go the lengths to take a full bath, thinking a wet cloth would be enough to get off what little dirt and sweat she had accumulated through today's training.</p><p>Striga finds herself with a great amount of spare time even after all that, and stands in the middle of the room for a minute or two simply spinning her ring and appearing to stare ahead at something only she could see. She is mentally reaching for something, anything to focus on, and simply draws a blank. Then she blinks, acknowledging what she has been mindlessly trying to stare holes into; it's the barricade she had requisitioned from the carpenters two weeks ago. Had that been there when she woke up this evening? Not that it mattered now.</p><p>She takes the time to inspect it, remembering the rough drawing she had made for the carpenters and her uncertainty that they wholly understood what it was she wanted. But, as far as she could tell, they had understood perfectly; ten feet tall by ten feet wide, split timbers with the flat faces facing out with all their rings and knots, and properly braced at the base so it could stand on its own. Striga quickly moves to her desk, plucking a stick of charcoal from the drawer to bring back with her. She will draw a series of circles across the rough face of the barricade, varying in size and location, until there are ten of them. She takes a step back to look it over once more, nodding when she feels satisfied.</p><p>It's back to the chest at the foot of her bed to rummage through, bits of metal knocking together as she emerges with an armful of things that she'll let spill onto the table. It's primarily made up of her collection of knives, most of which are of similar size and amateur make, easy to palm or tuck in a sleeve or a belt -a soldier can never have too many, frankly. The others are a pair of what could only be described as hatchets, and a laughably large knife that appeared very well made with polished rivets and a fine wooden handle and its own leather sheath.</p><p>Seemingly without a second thought Striga grabs up one of the smaller knives and chucks it at the barricade, a deeply satisfied smile cutting across her face when the blade hits home near the center of one of the charcoal circles. She's almost giddy, still smiling ear-to-ear as she repeats the action, landing much closer to the center this time. It will take two more attempts, all but one of her little knives to hit the center, and when it lands with a heavy <em>thock</em>, Striga answers it with a chesty "<em>Hah</em>!" That felt <em>so</em> good. Too good to stop there.</p><p>Almost too good to stop so she could make it to Morana's apartment on time. It's nearly midnight.</p><p>
  <em>A little tardiness wouldn't be so awful, would it? No, no; Lady Morana wishes to be friends, and you do not insult a friend's hospitality by being late.</em>
</p><p>Although, had she been late by any measure, Morana must not have noticed by the warm greeting she gives.</p><p>She offers up a genuine smile from behind the door. "Welcome, general, please come in."</p><p>Striga gives a gracious nod and steps inside, briefly scanning the room on reflex until she hears the click of the door closing behind her.</p><p>"Thank you for joining me," Morana continues. "Our meal has just arrived if you would like to sit, or you are free to have a look around if it pleases you."</p><p>"It would actually; I've been curious about some of your mountings since I was last here, and haven't had the opportunity to ask sooner."</p><p>"Then, by all means." and Morana gestures with her hand, giving Striga leave to walk on.</p><p>Morana's elated and partly worried she may not be reigning it in well enough. She has a noticeable but stable pulse, though she fears if it grows any stronger it will manifest as a redness in her face. Part of her had hoped Striga might mention her attire -a comfortable and casual kaftan, but this one is a rich, dark shade of blue, even darker than her usual dress -but her disappointment is minimal. Perhaps the general simply didn't consider that an appropriate topic for friends. Even if that is the case, Morana is still thrilled just to have her here. And Striga is curious, which is still a good sign.</p><p><em>"Making friends is just two people exposing themselves to one another in small doses."</em> Lenore had explained, even though Morana hadn't asked her to. <em>"And I mean that figuratively -don't take that as my blessing to indulge your mighty, Sapphic thirst." </em>Even now Morana wants to roll her eyes.</p><p>Striga has her eyes some of the weapons hanging from the wall on the far side of the room, but as she gets closer she can't help but stop as her attention is snagged by one of the larger maps. She studies it for a moment, unaware that Morana waits patiently just behind her.</p><p>"Where was this made? I do not recognize these letters,"</p><p>"It's a copy that I drafted some...century or so ago." Morana steps around, standing beside Striga. "The original belonged to a Silk Route merchant who had gone to extensive lengths to collaborate with other scholars along the route to compile it."</p><p>"And the script?"</p><p>"It's Arabic, my mother tongue."</p><p>"It's beautiful. But it isn't <em>all</em> Arabic," Some of it is Latin which she readily reads with ease, some is Greek that she recognizes but cannot decipher, and most of the rest is incredibly eye-catching but entirely unfamiliar.</p><p>Morana smiles. "No, the merchant was kind enough to keep the native text for their respective nations, so I copied that as well. Not just for fidelity's sake, but also for the variety."</p><p>Striga scans the document from side to side, only faintly familiar with a small portion of it. Most of the maps she knew were regional, relegated to Styria and her neighbors and significant but localized foreign powers. "The world is really so large?"</p><p>"Larger still, most likely." Morana chances a little laugh. "Kyiv is on the map, if you're curious."</p><p>"Yes, I see it." yet as disinterested as she sounds, Striga is staring holes through the little black spot indicating its location. "Would it be too forward to ask where your homeland is? Provided it isn't Styria,"</p><p>"Not at all. It's here," Morana raises her hand and points with the tip of one talon, "on the farthest eastern shore of the Mediterranean Sea, a region called the Levant. I don't suppose you've been there?"</p><p>"I have not. Would you be willing to tell me about it?"</p><p>Morana is more than happy to, and does even better by directing the general's attention to some of the paintings she has on the wall, which were faithful recreations of vistas from her home city. Striga is more than content to listen, enjoying the good lady's enthusiasm as well as the artwork in a way she hadn't expected to. Maybe it was the natural rasp of Morana's voice that kept her attention, or the plentiful historical trivia she readily weaves in, but something about her is incredibly charming like this. Without the cold, calculating veneer of a cunning courtier, it seemed that the Lady Morana is indeed just a woman</p><p>Morana abruptly stops, seeming to suddenly realize that she has been carrying on for what could have been several minutes straight without pause, and she feels a touch of blood in her cheeks when she acknowledges Striga's small and complacent smirk.</p><p>"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to prattle on like that. Did you have any questions, comments?"</p><p>"No, thank you, I was actually enjoying the...presentation, as it were." a throaty chuckle. "I'm far from being as learned as you, Lady Morana, but I can, at the very least, appreciate your apparently vast understanding around these matters."</p><p>"Surely you jest, general. You are wildly intelligent in your own, unique ways -ways I am very interested in learning."</p><p>Striga isn't sure why, but those words brought a little blood to her cheeks, albeit briefly. "As you say." she replies with the slightest hesitation.</p><p>"Have I embarrassed you?" Morana laughs gently.</p><p>"Ah, no," Striga softly clears her throat. "As I have mentioned before, I am simply unaccustomed to flattery."</p><p>"Is it still flattery if it's true?" Morana cuts a fanged smirk as she waits for a response, one that never comes. "In any case, would you like to continue?"</p><p>"Please. In fact, if you would be so kind as to indulge me, there's a piece I'm particularly curious about."</p><p>"By all means." And Morana watches her closely as Striga walks around her and moves further along the wall towards some of the weapons she has on display. When Striga stops, she's hardly surprised. "Ah yes, I had a feeling."</p><p>"Naturally, I've never seen anything like it." Striga will not attempt to touch it, but gestures with her hand towards what looks to be a thin strip of metal coiled in on itself and fixed to a handle that appeared more at home on a common saber. "But it <em>is</em> a weapon of some kind, yes?"</p><p>"It is." Morana nods once. With obvious care she will lift the weapon from its mounting, and with greater care still, pulls the coil partially undone. "It is a <em>chuttuval </em>from the Kerala region of India."</p><p>"It looks so fragile," Striga confesses, awestruck. "Is it actually useable?"</p><p>"According to my father, yes. It was given to him as a gift from the <em>naduvazhis</em> while visiting Kerala on behalf of the caliph, but not until after a fantastic demonstration of its use. Here,"</p><p>Striga is visibly surprised when Morana offers her the <em>chuttuval</em>, and she holds it with all the care and anxiety of someone holding an infant. "It hardly weighs anything. How does it not <em>break</em>?" Because it is surely metal, but is nearly parchment thin and bends like a reed without any sign of coming undone.</p><p>"A marvel, isn't it?"</p><p>"Extraordinary. Now please, best put it back before I find a way to break it." Striga chuckles sheepishly.</p><p>"I trust you, but if it will put you at ease." Morana concedes and returns the sword to its mount. "Perhaps now we could have a seat?"</p><p>"By your leave."</p><p>They would not be dining at the large common table near the center of the room. Morana had arranged for a smaller, lower, rectangular table to be brought in and situated between a pair of cushioned chaises and in front of the double doors leading out to her small balcony. It would have been much more striking had the moon been just a bit fatter, but Morana accepted the fact that she couldn't have <em>everything</em> she wanted tonight.</p><p>It's a little funny to watch Striga first examine and then try to figure out exactly how one was meant to sit on a chaise, though Morana considers that she is doing it simply for the purpose of humor -as unlikely as that may be- and that just tempts her to laugh more.</p><p>"This is not a chair, it's a bed." Striga says. "More like a chair <em>fucked</em> a bed." And even though Morana is already giggling behind her hand, she doubles back. "Should I not say that?" But Striga makes a note to keep the swearing to a minimum in spite of Morana's pardoning nod. In the end she simply sits as one might in a typical chair, facing the table and her hostess.</p><p>"Wine?" Morana offers, and is quick to oblige when Striga agrees. "I must confess that I'm pleasantly surprised to see you in such a fine mood, general."</p><p>"Oh? Why is that?" she seems genuine curious as she takes the glass and takes the fist sip.</p><p>"I sensed your displeasure following the lieutenant's visit. Then again, that could have just as easily been my own, considering his behavior."</p><p>Striga buzzes her lips. "I've dealt with far worse conduct from far greater men. My greatest displeasure came from his gross miscarriage of his position."</p><p>"Even after what he called you?" now Morana cradles her own glass, forgoing the wine in exchange for blood. "Which, mind you, I've never heard before, though I imagine it was meant to carry a considerable weight."</p><p>"Meant to, but didn't."</p><p>"What was all that supposed to mean? If you don't mind indulging me that is,"</p><p>Striga takes another sip and bounces her shoulders, seemingly indifferent. "Frankly it's nonsense, but since you asked," this time she empties the glass and gestures towards Morana in a silent request for another helping. "Just as humans have a strange fixation with the accidental circumstances surrounding one's birth, so does our own kind, or so I learned after I came to Styria. Heathen-reared should explain itself, considering what I recall of my own history," because if you weren't part of the once great <em>Holy</em> Roman Empire, you were a heathen, "and you understand what feral means, yes?"</p><p>"I do."</p><p>"Then consider, I suppose, that when we have become what we are, we are domesticated...or <em>refined</em> from something wild or uncivilized. However, some believe that without the presence of your creator, you are somehow," she pauses, searching for a Latin phrase that best fit her intent, "even less? Does that make sense?"</p><p>"I understand your meaning, but it hardly makes sense. To think our kind still entertains such ridiculous notions is <em>baffling</em>." Morana's cheerful demeanor has completely left her face, and has been replaced with something tight and sour. "So your sire wasn't present? Do you know who they are?"</p><p>"No, they do not exist."</p><p>"So they're dead?"</p><p>"You misunderstand," Striga shakes her head, "there is no sire. I was not turned so much as I...<em>became</em>, you could say."</p><p>"Oh."</p><p>Striga sees the change in her expression this time, knowing very well that she's curious just by the way her eyes are set now -wide, pupils broadening with interest. "Though, with all due respect, that is not a topic I will indulge you with tonight."</p><p>"Of course not, I wasn't about to press as much." Though she is ravenously curious and almost feels the need to scream. "Rest assured that you have every liberty to share or withhold as you see fit."</p><p>Striga finds that surprisingly comforting.</p><p>The conversation stills for a spell, long enough for Morana to take the cover off the sizable tray sitting on the table between them. She goes on to explain that she was curious as to just how adventurous Striga would be in regards to dinner, and made arrangements for some dishes from the Levant to be prepared. But, by the same token, she made allowance for some local fare on the chance that something that exotic didn't appeal to her. Striga reassures her that as a long-time member of the military, she will eat nearly anything and gets a somewhat queasy laugh from Morana when she reminds her of the saddle jerky conversation.</p><p>"It smells amazing." Striga's voice rumbles in her chest, almost like a growl when she exhales after filling her head with the fine aroma of seasonings she has likely never tried before. She has no idea that her confession had given Morana a wave of gooseflesh for multiple reasons. "What sort of meat is that?"</p><p>"Goat. There is also beef if that doesn't suit you."</p><p>"I was merely curious." Because it all looks wonderful. "And this flat bread? Do you top it or stuff it?"</p><p>"You can do either, actually." Morana has a small saucer in her hand and is already dressing up her disc of bread with olive oil and charred vegetables. "I would suggest stuffing it, less mess."</p><p>Striga nods, taking her advice as she fills her plate. "Do you eat like this often?"</p><p>"No, it's quite labor intensive, and ingredients can be hard to come by so I try not to trouble the cooks too much. But sometimes I can't help it, I get homesick."</p><p>Striga nods again and shifts on her chaise, propping her elbow on the raised potion much like Morana does. "How long has it been since you were there? If it's not too personal,"</p><p>Morana takes a few small bites and swallows. "I came to Styria...it was twelve-forty, from Alexandria. Before that I went all across the caliphate along the coast of the Mediterranean. Most places in the region were very much like home then, so I didn't feel so far away. But as for being in my home country? I fled in ten-nintey-five when I heard the Crusaders were coming."</p><p>"Crusaders?"</p><p>Morana just nods, takes another bite that she washes down with a mouthful of blood. "Knights of the Christian Church, at least that's what I heard they claimed to be, and they wished to <em>liberate</em> the region."</p><p>Striga only nods, knowing better than to try and speak with food in her mouth. If there's one thing she knows, it's the nature of war. Call it what you want, she knows a power grab when she hears of it. She swallows. "Do these Crusaders still hold the region?"</p><p>"They were driven out on the cusp of this century." Morana seems content to say. "But contacts tell me many descendants of the Crusaders remain and maintain holdings their forefathers stole during the conflict."</p><p>"And what of your home?"</p><p>"Surely the face of the Levant has changed a great deal in almost three-hundred years. I'm sure you can attest to war's penchant to bury things in its path, so it's likely my birthplace met such a fate."</p><p>Striga hums in agreement, recalling whole towns the Mongols had not so much buried but trampled into the ground under-hoof. Yes, war swallows everything. "Your parents?" she asks gently.</p><p>"Long gone. My parents were human."</p><p>Curiosity skews Striga's sable brows. "Did they know about you?"</p><p>"They did." Morana nods, seemingly unfazed by the question, the answer coming easily. "The caliph regarded our kind very much like your Mongols did in that we were priceless assets to his reign. That being said, our existence in the community as a whole was viewed in a very different way than it is here. Being turned...at least in my case, was seen as a great <em>honor</em>."</p><p>Striga's expression stretches. Clearly she hadn't expected to hear that. "You chose it?"</p><p>"I did." no hesitation, a quiet mark of pride in her tone. "Do you want the details?"</p><p>Striga takes a moment, a few more bites, and then nods. "If you wish to share."</p><p>Morana goes on to loosely describe her life as the child prodigy of an Arabian ambassador and his wife, a scholar and archivist. Apparently Morana had shown incredible intelligence very early on, hitting many developmental milestones sometimes <em>months</em> before most children typically would. She could speak three languages by the time she was five -though she admits to having forgotten Hebrew since she hasn't had anyone to speak it with in <em>some time</em>- and could best grown men decades her senior at <em>shatranj</em> before turning ten.</p><p>Her parents had done everything they could to make sure she received the best schooling, met the brightest minds in the region to start establishing a reputation that would surely help her as she grew older, and that due diligence and Morana's sheer ability eventually caught the attention of the caliph and his court.</p><p>"I was thirty when the caliph himself came to me and extended the offer." Morana's sounding a little distant, likely reminiscing. "He said I was a rare and incredible mind, that immortality would only help it grow, and that I, in turn, would help the prosperity of the caliphate grow. At the time, it was all I could ever want. To be recognized for my genius...and my parents were so proud, I couldn't say no."</p><p>"And was it all you hoped for?" Striga asks neutrally.</p><p>"In its own way, yes. Mind you, I never imagined I would end up here," Morana gestures around herself with her hand, smirking at an invisible punchline perhaps, "but, yes. In a way, it has become even more, for now I am the right hand of a <em>queen</em>."</p><p>"Hmm." Striga hums, emptying her glass and reaching for the bottle to fill it again. "But what has changed?"</p><p>"Hm?"</p><p>"You said <em>at the time</em> it was all you wanted." Striga repeats. "So what is different now?"</p><p>Had she said that? Surely the general wouldn't lie, but...now she feels like she's told on herself. No use in lying. "Well, naturally things change over time, especially with our kind and our long, <em>long</em> lives. Still...leaving for Styria was easily one of the hardest things I have ever had to do -that and shoulder my first winter here." she chances a little laugh. "I have had to do a great amount of...reflection since coming here, have had to...reassess my desires. The world I once knew belongs to the ages, so too for my original purpose -what I <em>believed</em> to be my purpose, that is, and here I am... What I mean to say is that almost <em>everything</em> has changed, and in some ways I am still trying to comprehend the scope of it."</p><p>"Do you regret your choice?"</p><p>"Not yet." A moment to think and to push another mouthful of blood down her throat. "Perhaps I could ask <em>you</em> a question now?"</p><p>"I suppose. If it pleases you."</p><p>"It only seems right, because I can't help but feel like I've demanded far too much attention."</p><p>"Well, this is your space, we go by your rules, your whims. Unless I'm mistaken."</p><p>"But you are my guest, not my prisoner." and it takes a prodigious amount of mental effort not to hear Lenore in her head.</p><p>"True enough. Still, ask your question."</p><p>"Very well." Morana weighs the words one last time. "Are you ever homesick?"</p><p>It will take a long time for Striga to answer, and Morana doesn't pressure her for it. Morana knows she's thinking, can see it in the way her eyes thin and her brow knits as she casts her gaze through the glass panes of the double doors leading to the balcony. And her eyes remain there when she finally speaks.</p><p>"I do not remember enough to miss it." she says flatly. "That is, I do not remember the place. I remember how it <em>felt</em>...<em>that </em>is what I miss."</p><p>Morana simply listens, sensing Striga's vulnerability -or at least what she believes to be vulnerability as she had never sensed anything like it from the general before.</p><p>"I usually don't notice it, but...I miss feeling <em>at home</em>, sometimes...miss feeling like I belong where I am." She pauses, again taking a long moment for herself. Her instincts are bristling in warning, telling her this is too much, too revealing. Like lending a knife to someone that you know is going to try and stab you with it later. "Suppose you understand?"</p><p>"In a way, I think." Something is telling Morana there was more -<em>so much more</em>- to what Striga said, but she wasn't going to go prying where she wasn't yet welcome. "At least travel within the caliphate kept me in familiar company. Compared to Styria, it's a whole other world. But the feeling has improved over time."</p><p>"Perhaps I will discover the same is true for myself." Striga sighs, sounding just barely convinced in the notion.</p><p>"And perhaps I can help?" Morana asks hopefully, offering a meek but sincere smile.</p><p>Striga turns and looks at her, that same studious scowl sharpening the edges of her face. "We shall see."</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><span class="u">Author's Note:</span> The next chapter or two -depends- is going to be made up primarily of more of these little "dates" for them. I hope the pacing is still all right. I almost feel like our good general is too relaxed too quickly, but by the same token, I feel like it's just right, because being open isn't the same as being genuinely vulnerable. We'll see where it goes. Hope everyone is still having fun and thanks for all the support!</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter Seven</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's snowing again, <em>heavily</em>, and for the sake of her horse, Striga skipped her archery training for the night. Her session with Taubert was conducted indoors and had concluded about a half hour ago, and now the general finds herself half-mindedly wandering the palace halls. She's not entirely sure if she is looking for anything in particular, but feels the need to isolate and think without locking herself up in her room.</p>
<p>She has yet to receive a proper tour of the palace, so she hasn't the most remote idea where she actually is, but it doesn't seem to bother her. Striga simply walks, unhurried, head swiveling from one direction to another to observe and absorb. This meandering eventually brings her to a staircase leading upward, spiraling, and she takes it without much consideration as to where it might come out. It winds on and on, finally opening up onto the landing at the palace's tallest vantage.</p>
<p>For a moment her attention is whisked away by the grandeur of the vista in spite of the darkness of a new moon and the haze of snowfall. It's gray and black and white to her undead eyes, but the sheer scope is enough to draw her to the edge of the platform. Had she still needed to breathe, surely she wouldn't be able to in the wake of such splendor. In the archway, Striga thinks to prop herself against it, distracted by the gentle rustle of ivy under the pressure of her weight. The sight of flowers, though still very gray, surprises her and wrangles her attention for a short moment.</p>
<p>When the novelty of the view and flowers wears off, Striga shrugs and crouches down to perch on the edge of the platform, her legs dangling over the side while her hands rest between her thighs to spin her ring. Her brow unconsciously lowers over her eyes, making her appear to scowl as her mind wanders off -but not too far, as she was due to meet Morana in about an hour, and she couldn't possibly know if the good lady would be very accepting of simply forgetting as an excuse for being late.</p>
<p>Why had Morana asked her to come back? Why had she agreed? Striga had never felt like good company before, and last night hadn't done much to change her opinion. Yet, still, Morana had been happy to have her and seemed the slightest bit reluctant to let her go just before dawn. Surely Morana must be lonely indeed for <em>her</em><span> to seem like such a pleasant companion. Then again, Striga could only imagine what a life like Morana's had been like; if all she said was true, she couldn't have had many friends. Because Striga knew that yawning distance between oneself and an intellectual superior, like an ocean that refuses to be crossed regardless of the effort. And to be found so wise as a child? How does one even begin to connect with anyone? And vampires were a territorial sort to begin with, add that to court politics and the constant vying for a caliph's approval and attention, and Striga has to wonder if Morana has </span><em>ever </em><span>had a friend before. Yes, there was Lenore and Carmilla, but just how close were they?</span></p>
<p>In that respect, she and Morana were very much alike. Regardless of how long she has lived, surely the number of years far outreach the number of friends Striga had come across. Welsh was truly the only one -the only one worth remembering, at least-, and their camaraderie had been accidental in a way. It's often the manner of things in the military. They simply grew together, slowly adapted around one another; it was strangely organic, like moss growing on a stone.</p>
<p>
  <span> But this, this intentional give and take that Morana had so humbly asked her to partake in...what is it exactly? Is this how </span>
  <em>normal</em>
  <span> folks do it? Was a real friendship possible without the crucial symbiosis that comes out of warfare and the threat of death? Maybe, but damned if Striga knows how.</span>
</p>
<p>There are other things Striga wonders about, as well. Things that have hung on her mind since last night, half haunting her throughout the day that it occasionally pulled her out of sleep, but mostly because it stirred her own discomfort, made her remember unpleasant things.</p>
<p>
  <em>Morana chose this life.</em>
  <span> And it rings in Striga's head like somber church bells as she spins her ring a little slower, her scowl deepening. </span>
  <em>What that we all could have such luxury.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <span> In the beginning it hadn't meant anything, or perhaps she hadn't allowed it to have any weight until Morana was out of sight and she had returned to her own apartment. Then something like bitterness settled in and it made her heart pulse in uneven bursts. She would remain awake for several more hours, well into the day, tossing knives at the barricade with her throws becoming progressively harder. However, that only served as a sufficient distraction for so long, and by then Morana was so far from her mind that Striga had all but forgotten she even existed. By then she was much too deep into memories of her own turning and the horror of it all.</span>
</p>
<p>But, once the worst of that passed, the bitterness returned.</p>
<p>Striga doesn't feel guilty over it, frankly. There's no sin in having feelings about things, right? And who wouldn't have them in regards to one's own murder? But this...she knows it isn't right, but can't help it; Morana would never understand, and part of Striga desperately wants to resent the good lady for her good fortune. Striga feels the muscles in her jaw bunching tight, molars creaking under the pressure, and her nostrils flare at a deep, chest-filling breath.</p>
<p>
  <em>She said her parents were </em>
  <span>proud</span>
  <em>...had they cared for her when she was turning? Did they still love her? Had they loved her at all if they thought becoming a vampire was...</em>
</p>
<p>Now Striga is thinking of her father, his last words to her, and the feeling of a broken heart -a feeling that isn't quite the same when your heart no longer beats as it once did. She stops spinning her ring and drags her palms heavily down her face, trying her damnedest to ignore the tightening in her throat with the onset of tears. For a long while she stews in that, lets herself feel the bitterness and the resentment and whatever else might be woven in with it. She acknowledges the pounding behind her ribs and recognizes it for what it is; all those feelings simply manifesting as they must.</p>
<p>Then, little by little, her pulse eases and the rawness passes. Not entirely, of course, but mostly. With another deep breath, this one cleansing and strangely grounding, Striga lets her mind go blank for a minute or two. She starts spinning her ring again when her heart stops completely.</p>
<p>
  <em>None of that was Morana's doing. What </em>
  <span>I</span>
  <em> went through wasn't </em>
  <span>her</span>
  <em> fault, and what sort of woman does that make me to think she should have suffered like I did? Would it make things fair somehow? Would it make me feel better? Maybe I really am just a heathen...</em>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Striga laughs to herself; she most definitely </span>
  <em>is</em>
  <span>...still, resenting Morana would be wrong. Not just wrong, but petty and dishonorable, the last of which is something Striga simply refused to be, nevermind the circumstance. She would not hold Morana accountable for something that happened half a continent away and possibly long before </span>
  <em>or after</em>
  <span> she was even born. Striga still feels the bitterness, but now it is simply an emotion that exists, not aimed at anyone or anything. Something else to learn to live with and keep to herself.</span>
</p>
<p>She knows there's little time left to linger, but she doesn't hurry to get up. She continues to spin her ring and think and get lost in the landscape below. She needed to take the time to process this, internalize it so she didn't take all those raw feelings with her. Because friends don't force each other to see their ugliness like that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>(--)</em>
</p>
<p>"So that's it?" Lenore sounds disappointed. "You just talked all night?"</p>
<p>Morana hums so as not to confuse her moving hand with words that she might write instead of what she meant to. When she pauses, she half turns in her seat. "You were expecting something more scandalous?"</p>
<p>"Well," Lenore grins fiendishly, one hand supporting a perching raven, and the other stroking along the bird's spine. "Maybe."</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana smirks. "Weren't </span>
  <em>you </em>
  <span>the one cautioning me about my 'great Sapphic thirst'?"</span>
</p>
<p>"I know what I said."</p>
<p>"Would it kill you to admit you're at least a little impressed with my restraint?"</p>
<p>"I think it best not to risk it, wouldn't want to miss anything." Lenore flashes a little more teeth before the raven puffs its feathers and squawks. "And she's coming back tonight?"</p>
<p>"Yes." Morana nods and turns back to the half finished page in front of her.</p>
<p>"And you're just going to talk some more?"</p>
<p>"Most likely. Is that not how you make friends?" Morana teases, and she smiles to herself when she swears she can hear Lenore rolling her eyes.</p>
<p>The raven makes a series of clicks and purrs. "Bartholomew says you're a smart ass." Lenore translates.</p>
<p>
  <span> "And I'm sure he learned to recognize it by </span>
  <em>your</em>
  <span> example." Morana counters playfully. "Right, Bartholomew?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> He loudly caws three times in response. Lenore's expression sours as she scratches his chin. "Perhaps mommy should have named you </span>
  <em>Judas</em>
  <span>, hmm?" And he caws again, bobbing his head as if nodding. "Sassy little shit," but she says so lovingly, because she knows he got </span>
  <em>that</em>
  <span> from her too.</span>
</p>
<p>But even her little darling's attitude couldn't distract her from the abrupt, pitching shift of energy in the room when there's a knock at Morana's door. Lenore just grins at the hidden proof that her sister isn't nearly as calm and poised as she plays herself off to be. Even though she remains at her desk, calling over her shoulder with permission to enter with no more emotion in her voice than before, Lenore can hear the hum of her heart.</p>
<p>Striga pokes her head in first, having heard voices and wanting to be certain she wasn't walking into something she shouldn't be. When that doesn't appear to be the case she allows herself inside the rest of the way and closes the door behind her. "Good evening, sisters." she greets, "hope I am not intruding."</p>
<p>"Not at all, general, I was about to leave, in fact." Lenore says, turning towards Striga in the process of doing just that. "Oh, have you met Bartholomew?"</p>
<p>"I have not." Interest flickers across her pale face, softening the usually hard lines with a smile.</p>
<p>Lenore seems more than happy to come forward and present the raven for inspection, the bird seeming exceptionally curious as its beady eyes fix on the other vampire and his feathers puff out. "Barty? Can you tell the general who you are?"</p>
<p>
  <span> "</span>
  <em>Baby</em>
  <span>," and there is no knowing what was more unsettling, that he spoke at all, or that he perfectly mimicked Lenore's voice. "</span>
  <em>Baby boy</em>
  <span>,"</span>
</p>
<p>Striga's eyes widen and she laughs, even as the raven starts to flap and mimic a baby's cry.</p>
<p>
  <span> "</span>
  <em>Wah-wah, baby boy, baby boy,</em>
  <span>"</span>
</p>
<p>"Here, general, hold up your hand." She waits for Striga to copy her hand position before lifting Bartholomew in her direction. Without more prompting than that, the raven reaches out with one large but spindly claw to latch onto Striga's much thicker fingers.</p>
<p>The raven gives Striga his undivided attention, his beak reaching for her nose, still flapping his wings and "crying". She can't help but assume that if the bird is comfortable with perching there, perhaps he would be agreeable to petting, and is happy to find her intuition to be correct. Smoothing her fingers across the top of his head, along the silky feathers of his spine, settles his crying.</p>
<p>
  <span> "</span>
  <em>Baby boy</em>
  <span>,"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Yes, a </span>
  <em>crybaby</em>
  <span> you are." Striga replies, tucking her chin that she might meet the bird's eyes. "Why do you cry so much, eh? Even with those pretty women fawning over you?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Does she really think I'm pretty?</em>
  <span> Morana entertains for all of a second.</span>
</p>
<p>"He's a whore for attention, crying gets him what he wants." Lenore explains, even though she feels like Striga doesn't need it.</p>
<p>
  <span> "</span>
  <em>Baby</em>
  <span>,"</span>
</p>
<p>"You hear that, Lenore? You do not call babies whores."</p>
<p>"Oh, so you're talking to her already, Barty? He must really like you, then." Lenore smiles and gently tugs one of his tail feathers, earning his attention and an indignant squawk. "Come now, bratty boy."</p>
<p>
  <span> "</span>
  <em>Brat</em>
  <span>," he mimicks.</span>
</p>
<p>"Yes, you're a brat, just like mommy." Lenore giggles and encourages him back onto her hand, stroking him once he's settled. "I'd love to receive you in my chambers some time, general, so you might meet my other little darlings."</p>
<p>"You have more?"</p>
<p>
  <span> "</span>
  <em>Plenty</em>
  <span> more." Morana says with a chuckle.</span>
</p>
<p>"Yes, all sorts, and they've been eager to meet their new aunt." Part of Lenore loves seeing the puzzled amusement on Striga's face.</p>
<p>"Aunt?" one of Striga's brows lift.</p>
<p>
  <span> "Yes; you are my sister, they are my children, so you are their aunt, and I will suffer no argument." and she nods once as if to silently settle the matter. "And now we'll leave the two of you to what is surely </span>
  <em>pressing</em>
  <span> business." She eyes Morana for a moment, still able to hear her heartbeat. "Don't stay up too late."</span>
</p>
<p>"Good evening, Lenore." Morana sighs with a smile, eager and certainly pleased to watch her leave. Finally she is able to give Striga her full attention. "How are you, general?"</p>
<p>"Well enough, I suppose." she nods.</p>
<p>"I'm afraid our meal has yet to arrive, but it shouldn't be long now."</p>
<p>"That's quite all right." she dismisses with her hand. "I must admit I missed you during my session with Taubert earlier."</p>
<p>"Ah yes," Morana shrinks a little. "I'm afraid I became rather engrossed in my work. By the time I was able to look away from it, it was much too late. My apologies."</p>
<p>"None necessary. I might have been," she pauses, weighing the words, "a little concerned. You seem like a woman of routine, so I thought something serious had come up."</p>
<p>"Well," her heart hums in her chest, elation throbbing in her veins. "You're not entirely wrong, though the matter is hardly serious."</p>
<p>"Is it too bold to ask what you were doing?"</p>
<p>"Not at all. Come, have a look if you like." Morana steps aside when she sees Striga advancing. "When I'm not busy with council matters, I take commissions for a number of things. I copy manuscripts for the most part, translate them, but occasionally I get a request for calligraphy. Admittedly, those are my favorite."</p>
<p>And Stiga understands perfectly well why that must be when she reaches the desk and has a moment to take in the page sitting beneath the pale glow of the lightning glass. Her jaw drops. "My god,"</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>
  <span> "It's </span>
  <em>stunning</em>
  <span>." Striga exhales. "These are your Arabic letters, yes?"</span>
</p>
<p>"They are."</p>
<p>She spends several more seconds staring, trying to fully appreciate the unfamiliar, sweeping strokes that somehow form an image with the script. "You have exceptional skill, Lady Morana."</p>
<p>"Thank you, general," she can feel the distinct warmth of blood in her cheeks. "You flatter me."</p>
<p>"Is it still flattery if it's true?"</p>
<p>Morana meets Striga's gaze, meets her smile with one of her own, and for a moment there is nothing else in the whole of creation except the two of them.</p>
<p>When Striga breaks eye contact to continue adoring the calligraphy, Morana goes back to what she had meant to do beforehand. She'll open a little drawer in her desk, pulling out a small glass bottle and popping the top to spread a few drops of its contents on her hands.</p>
<p>Within seconds Striga's attention is snatched up by a powerful, floral scent. "What is that?"</p>
<p>"Jasmine oil. Typically I use it on my hair, but I put it on my hands as well. Handling so much parchment throughout the night tends to dry my skin." She's rubbing her hands together, working the oil in. "Does it bother you?"</p>
<p>
  <span> "No," Striga shakes her head, "just...something familiar." It's on the fringes of her mind, like a tendril of smoke that dissolves when she reaches for it.</span>
</p>
<p>"Well, you've been living here for a few weeks now, perhaps you're just noticing it because it's so fresh." Then again, there have been scant few times were Striga was close enough to have picked up on it, and Morana thinks about those moments so much more than she should.</p>
<p>
  <span> "Suppose so." Striga lilts her head and inches her shoulders, accepting that though it doesn't feel </span>
  <em>quite</em>
  <span> accurate.</span>
</p>
<p>"Is everything all right, general?"</p>
<p>"Hm? Yes, why?"</p>
<p>"You look tired." now that Morana has a closer look and in better light, she can see the greater depth of the circles under Striga's eyes. "Trouble sleeping again?"</p>
<p>"I..well...yes. Not as greatly as before, but," she isn't used to anyone asking about it, anyone caring enough to ask, so she doesn't have a story ready. Might as well go by the tried and true "I'm fine."</p>
<p>"Are you sure? We could reschedule for another night so you can rest,"</p>
<p>"Not at all." she shakes her head and puts on a soft face. "I am content to remain so long as I am welcome, though I may not be so open for conversation as I was last night."</p>
<p>
  <span> "You are </span>
  <em>always</em>
  <span> welcome here. And don't worry about conversations, I am certain we can find other ways to occupy ourselves." and her mind goes in a wholly different direction than her innocent tone would suggest, and she does her best to keep those thoughts relegated to her beating heart. "Until then, perhaps a drink? Might lift your spirits,"</span>
</p>
<p>"Many thanks." Striga nods in acceptance.</p>
<p>In the time it takes them to raise a glass, servants arrive with their dinner and leave the trays and pitchers on the small table between the chaises as they had the night before. Striga makes no attempt to hide her desire to have a seat, not realizing just how tired she feels until she's comfortably settled. Morana sees how she straddles the chaise, one leg on either side for the moment, and briefly imagines taking a seat for herself in Striga's lap. The lurch of her heart brings her focus back.</p>
<p>Her gaze rises from those powerful thighs to Striga's eyes, and she sees them fixed on one of the glass pitchers on the table. "Are you keen to beer?"</p>
<p>
  <span> "I am keen to </span>
  <em>good</em>
  <span> beer." Striga says truthfully.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "I think you'll appreciate this," Morana rounds the chaise and takes a seat. "I understand that Bavarians are </span>
  <em>quite</em>
  <span> excellent brewers."</span>
</p>
<p>"With such high praise, I suppose I must try it, then." there is an empty glass stein on the table that refuses to be empty for more than a second or two after that. "Will you be abstaining again this evening?"</p>
<p>"I will." Morana nods. "Beer isn't my preferred beverage anyway, so, by all means, enjoy." She can't help but watch as Striga takes her first sip, feeling a touch of gooseflesh at the approving rumble she makes. "Not enough decent beer in the king's cavalry, general?"</p>
<p>
  <span> "No." Striga smirks, sensing the humor in the question. "The men made their own when they could, and it was often...</span>
  <em>something</em>
  <span>."</span>
</p>
<p>"Saddle beer?"</p>
<p>
  <span> Striga tips back her head and laughs out loud, her free hand on her stomach as if to hold some of it in. As she begins to laugh along, Morana is convinced if she were to be staked through the heart this very instant, she would die with no regrets. And if that wasn't enough, seeing a very present redness in Striga's usually pallid face, making her almost look </span>
  <em>alive</em>
  <span>...god have mercy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I am falling so hard for you.</em>
  <span> Morana thinks. Yes, so hard and so helplessly. Surely as the moon rises, Morana believes herself to be dining with her own ruin. Beautiful, beautiful ruin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Striga is coughing into her fist as she struggles to stop. Even after the worst seems to have passed, she still chuckles as she tries to get another swallow of her drink."</span>
  <em>God</em>
  <span>," she clears her throat one last time. "I can't remember the last time I laughed like that."</span>
</p>
<p>Morana just smiles, hoping that's enough to show her approval of what she believes is a compliment.</p>
<p>"Seems some of the rumors I heard about you were indeed wrong."</p>
<p>"Oh," Morana's eyes come alight with interest. "Rumors, you say?"</p>
<p>"Well," Striga lilts her head, setting her drink down, "many of them were the same, saying you're uptight and humorless and vicious."</p>
<p>"Am I not vicious, general?"</p>
<p>
  <span> For a split second Striga can't speak. There is something about that look, the setting of Morana's eyes and the slightest dip of her chin, coupled with the </span>
  <em>way</em>
  <span> she asked that question with both humor and innuendo that takes whatever Striga might say right out of her mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "I-I have no doubt that you are, Lady Morana." she hopes her struggle isn't too obvious. "And you are certainly no more uptight than</span>
  <em> I</em>
  <span> am, but you are </span>
  <em>far</em>
  <span> from humorless."</span>
</p>
<p>"Good to know." Morana nods. "What else did you hear? I'm afraid you've baited my curiosity."</p>
<p>"As I said, many were the same, but I had a favorite."</p>
<p>
  <span> "Now you </span>
  <em>have</em>
  <span> to tell me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "I heard you trained assassins." and she has no idea what she feels, but Striga feels an intense </span>
  <em>something</em>
  <span> when Morana cuts a toothy smile that could only be described as </span>
  <em>devilish</em>
  <span>. "Not much of a rumor either, hm?"</span>
</p>
<p>"Well, surely you don't believe the king acquired me solely to manage his household?"</p>
<p>"Certainly not." she picks up her beer again and takes another sip, her mouth drying under Morana's gaze that she still can't describe. "It just never occurred to me that such work would...be part of that."</p>
<p>
  <span> "It's one of the less apparent reasons the king wanted to add me to his court. He wanted more...</span>
  <em>quiet</em>
  <span> ways to defend his crown, as all rulers are want to do once they've gained a great enough foothold. Open warfare is rather </span>
  <em>expensive, </em>
  <span>after all."</span>
</p>
<p>"True enough." Striga readily agrees. "So just how effective are your assassins? Provided you're at liberty to say,"</p>
<p>
  <span> "The king used to call them my shadows, and they are </span>
  <em>very</em>
  <span> capable. Though they, much like myself, excel primarily at gathering information, they have other talents. For example, you had no idea they actually existed until I told you, while they have been hiding in plain sight." Morana chuckles. "But, as a sign of good faith, I will tell you that Taubert's appointment as captain was not by chance, nor was the arrangement for her to train with you."</span>
</p>
<p>For a moment all Striga can do is stare back, eyes wide and somewhat wary.</p>
<p>
  <span> "She is one of my best, could </span>
  <em>be</em>
  <span> the best if she chose it, but she prefers working here in the palace." Morana continues as if it's nothing. "Naturally I would ask that you be discreet about this matter, for their safety's sake."</span>
</p>
<p>"Of course. And I appreciate your trust."</p>
<p>"To give is to receive when trust is involved, wouldn't you agree?" Morana mimics the nod Striga responds with.</p>
<p>The conversation stalls, long enough for the two of them to eat. Tonight's dinner is a fine selection of sliced sausages and cheeses, coupled with fresh baked rolls that looked to be topped with sweet butter. Striga finds it all an excellent pairing with the beer, though she can't resist a joke about worrying that living so well would ruin her figure. Morana just laughs it off, but her mind is going back to those weeks when she first arrived; that taught but barreled midriff with the slightest definition of muscle would look terribly inviting with just a little extra. Like a pillow and just as soft.</p>
<p>"Although," Striga swallows the little bit of food left in her mouth, then washes it down with the last of her beer. "Speaking of Taubert,"</p>
<p>"Yes?"</p>
<p>"Why is it you come to watch? Not that I mind it, I'm just curious."</p>
<p>
  <span> It is a rare moment indeed when Morana wants so desperately to tell the </span>
  <em>whole </em>
  <span>truth. She presses her tongue between her teeth to stop herself, knowing it would absolutely ruin everything. "Truth be told, general, I've heard my fair share of rumors about </span>
  <em>you</em>
  <span>, and I wanted to see how true they were. That, and should I need to threaten military action in the future, I would prefer to do so in good conscience."</span>
</p>
<p>"And have I satisfied any of your curiosity in that regard?"</p>
<p>
  <em>That and more.</em>
  <span> "You have. Your...martial prowess is truly impressive. Although, admittedly, seeing Taubert toss you around is rather entertaining."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Striga feels a little blood in her face. "For someone so small in comparison, I have no doubt of that. Even </span>
  <em>I</em>
  <span> find a little fun in it."</span>
</p>
<p>Morana cocks her head, curious. "Just what is it you do for fun, general? I hate to say that I've never asked."</p>
<p>"Well, I'm afraid I don't indulge in nearly the number of pursuits you do, Lady Morana. I have simple tastes; hunting, riding, that sort of thing. I've never been one to read or write for the sake of pleasure, it simply can't hold my focus long enough, if that makes any sense."</p>
<p>"It does, both can be rather tedious. Though that's quite a shame; I thought to invite you to the archives, we have a wealth of historical military accounts that I thought you would be interested in."</p>
<p>"Well, I'm not completely opposed to the idea."</p>
<p>"That's good to hear." And Morana thinks to let the subject fade there, to make room for another topic if there is one, but then considers something else. Maybe, just maybe, now is the right time. "However,"</p>
<p>Striga's brows rise with curiosity.</p>
<p>"Perhaps you would be interested in a shared pastime?"</p>
<p>Now her sable brows drop, knitting with what might be seen as suspicion. "I'm listening."</p>
<p>"It's a game of strategy. Mind you, there will be a little learning involved on your part, but I think you'll enjoy it in the end."</p>
<p>Waiting for Striga's answer is torturous.</p>
<p>"Your suggestions have yet to disappoint, and I suppose there is a chance we will run out of things to talk about eventually."</p>
<p>"And, as you mentioned earlier, it may prove to be a fine alternative on nights we simply don't have the energy for lengthy conversations."</p>
<p>"Oh, I did say that, didn't I?" Striga smiles, perhaps not meaning to. "Suppose socializing with you isn't as taxing as I expected."</p>
<p>Morana rises from her chaise and casts an uneven smile. "I think I'll take that as a compliment."</p>
<p>"Good, as that was my intent."</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana only nods as she walks around the chaise in the direction of her desk, though once her back is turned and there's no risk of getting caught, Morana's face contorts with all the happiness and excitement she's trying to keep hidden. Her smile is so wide it borders on painful, and she risks piercing her own lip with her fangs and she holds it between her teeth to keep whatever noises might emerge at bay. She is brimming with an ecstatic satisfaction, like everything is coming together oh so perfectly that it might even be divine intervention. </span>
  <em>Don't be silly, what does </em>
  <span>He</span>
  <em> care?</em>
</p>
<p>Striga refills her beer and watches as Morana delves into one of the drawers in the desk and comes back with what looks like a polished wooden box that has the dimensions of a large book. Once it's sitting on the table between them she can get a closer look, even more curious to see the eight-by-eight grid of squares carved into the top, each other square stained darker than the rest. Morana says the pieces are inside the board, directing Striga's attention to the small knob on her side that she's quick to pull out.</p>
<p>There are sixteen pieces, half of them simple and similar in shape, and all are carved from what looks like solid ruby. Striga gives them close attention as she plucks them out of the velvet lined drawer one by one, noting their differences and fine craftsmanship. She glances across the board, watching as Morana places her pieces -just as fine and as dark blue as a midnight sea- and tries to copy her placements.</p>
<p>
  <span> "Excellent." Morana smiles and nods with approval. "Now, in </span>
  <em>shatranj</em>
  <span>, the whole point of the game is to trap the opposing king, or the </span>
  <em>shah</em>
  <span>." She plucks up the respective piece and Striga does the same, appearing to examine it closely in order to become more familiar. </span>
</p>
<p>"Is it safe to assume that all the pieces perform differently?"</p>
<p>
  <span> "Yes, each has its own set of rules of how it can move across the board and take opposing pieces. Think of each one in the back row as a member of the </span>
  <em>shah's</em>
  <span> court; his queen to his right, then his advisers, his trusted knights, and his cavalry."</span>
</p>
<p>Striga takes a moment to study each one closely, listening intently while quietly appreciating the intricate carvings. "What is this?" she asks, holding what Morana referred to as the knight. It was represented as a round, tusked creature that is scaled much larger than the figure sitting atop it.</p>
<p>"It's an elephant, they're prevalent in India, where the game originates."</p>
<p>"Are they really so large?"</p>
<p>"I've never seen one for myself, but I have seen whole tusks and paintings, and they are impressive."</p>
<p>"Interesting. Please continue."</p>
<p>Morana goes on to describe the last eight pieces as infantry, and then proceeds to elaborate on the rules for each piece. There were only so many spaces and directions each one could move, some could move over allied pieces while others could not, and some could only overcome the opponent's pieces in certain ways.</p>
<p>"So the queen is the most mobile, powerful piece?"</p>
<p>"Naturally." Morana smiles smugly. "Behind every man on a throne is the woman who hoisted him up so he could reach it." They share a little laugh.</p>
<p>
  <span> "Is there more than one way to trap the </span>
  <em>shah</em>
  <span>?" Striga asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "There is. The </span>
  <em>shah</em>
  <span> cannot willfully endanger himself by moving into an at risk space, so the most common way is to simply give him nowhere to run. Another way is to deplete his forces entirely."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "And </span>
  <em>any</em>
  <span> piece can trap the </span>
  <em>shah</em>
  <span>?"</span>
</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>Striga looks to the board in a studying way for a moment, nods slowly to herself, and then looks up. "Shall we being then?"</p>
<p>"You are my guest, so the first move is yours."</p>
<p>
  <span> And as Striga reaches for an infantry piece, Morana is certain that, win or lose, she still feels </span>
  <em>victorious</em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Author's Note:</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> Seemed like an appropriate place to end this chapter, though for a moment I thought I was just droning on. I took some liberties with the games rules for the sake of expediency, because I'm tired, but they are mostly accurate. I had meant for this chapter to be a collection of different encounters, kind of like a greatest hits as it were, but it turned into more than that. So it seems there will be more chapters of "dates" than I originally planned, which is usually how it goes for me. I don't suppose you lot will mind that too much, will you? Writing this is incredibly fun, and thank you all so much for the support and the feedback. Catch you later!</span>
  </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter Eight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>I cannot believe I lost.</em>
</p><p>For several minutes Morana has stood at a podium in the archives, at least appearing to be fangs deep in the book open before her, when in actuality her attention has been constantly dragged back and forth from her pressing business now to the culmination of last night's game. In the glow of lightning glass she braces her head against the pads of her fingers on one hand, while the other carefully drums the tips of her talons gingerly against the pages of the book, and she stares into the wall in front of her -more so through it. Her face is set neutrally save for the quiet intensity of her eyes.</p><p>She isn't angry, far from it. There's elation somewhere in the mess of her mind, joy at having at last found a new opponent that is also so competent at the game already. But god, she wasn't <em>ready</em> for it! Morana had expected slow and steady reluctance. All new players are like that, it's just one of those things. But Striga was quick, precise and decisive from the first move. Too quick, it would turn out, for Morana to keep pace.</p><p><em>"Surely it was beginner's luck."</em> The good general had said graciously. She had the most endearing smile, almost embarrassed, like she had felt bad for winning so soundly. <em>"We can play again,"</em></p><p>Morana takes a quiet but deep breath and sighs silently. She can't help but be touched by the gesture, as needless as it had been -it was already after dawn when they finished, so there was no time, and Morana hoped she hadn't been so careless with her demeanor that she gave off the notion of needing a rematch to soothe her ego. In any case, she had politely declined, reminding Striga of the time in spite of how much she hated to. Oh, that night could last forever...</p><p>Morana had offered to play again the following evening, that is tonight, but then it had been Striga's turn to gently refuse.</p><p>
  <em>"As pleasant as your company is, my lady, I believe I could use a night to myself."</em>
</p><p>Morana made it clear that she understood, which she truly does, but had quietly loathed the idea of having nothing to look forward to tonight besides her work. Ah well, it still needed to be done, nevermind what she wanted.</p><p>
  <em>My lady.</em>
</p><p>Morana closes her eyes to the charge up her back and the fluttering of her heart. It wasn't her name, but it was still less formal than usual. It was a sign of comfort, perhaps even...a mark of affection? Though it was much more likely to have been a slip in decorum; Striga hadn't slept well and they had spent the entire night talking and scheming against one another. As it had been with Lenore, it was just a slip of a tired mind, surely.</p><p>Still, it had been nice to hear.</p><p>That seemed to ease Morana's thoughts enough to let her focus at last, and she dives into her work without further hesitation. What she has is a reference log, meant to make locating certain documents easier. She needs to find a treaty the king had signed alongside one of his allies, the Duke of Carinthia, and double check the terms. The duke had responded with a less than pleasant letter about the king's death, and in closing had brought up a supposed list of arrangements that had been made that the duke expected Carmilla to make good on. Morana needed to be sure it wasn't just a man doing what a man does and playing a woman new to the throne for a fool. When she finds what she's looking for, the book slaps shut with a short lived echo before she goes to collect it. With treaty in hand, it's off to discuss it with Carmilla.</p><p>After three hours of back and forth and what-ifs, the matter is settled, leaving Morana with a fresh task to tend to. The rest of the night has her at her desk, initially drafting a copy of the treaty to send along with Carmilla's reply, which essentially states that the terms of the agreement haven't changed and that the duke needed to take care to not make such outrageous claims as he had so readily. That Styria was still an ally, but would not be disrespected in this fashion again -but it is all written in a way that was professional and kind as to mind the duke's notoriously fragile mood. By the time the ink is dry and the missive is ready to send out, it is already after dawn and Morana is struggling to keep her eyes open. Still, in a way she is grateful; the night had passed quickly, and she feels herself smiling at the idea of the coming night. She means to try again to invite Striga to a rematch, provided she is of the mind to after her training session with Taubert.</p><p> </p><p>The sun has barely bowed out of the sky when Morana wakes and goes about her usual, meticulous routine to prepare herself for the night. Once she feels presentable she's quick to get to work, having but a few small matters to see to -returning the original treaty to the archives, sending out all the missives that accumulated the night before, and so on. On her walk through the castle, she catches sight of the still substantial snow fall, making a mental note that Striga and Taubert will likely train indoors again this evening. Just as well, though she would have been willing to weather it if need be. With all her work completed, she leaves her apartment, but not before grabbing a book that she didn't so much intend to read as to use it as a cover in case she was thought to be staring. Yes, Striga knew she came to watch, but that doesn't mean Morana could carelessly wear her thirst on her sleeve.</p><p>Morana meets Taubert on her way, which is fortunate since she had no idea where Striga and the captain had chosen to hold their indoor session, and is content to follow her to one of the castle's smaller ballrooms. When not in use, extra furnishings were stored here, but all of that has been carefully arranged against the walls to clear the great breadth of the polished marble floor. It's no trouble at all for Morana to find a chair, and considering that Striga has yet to arrive, she and Taubert easily slip into a conversation. Morana keeps a fairly liberal leash on her shadows -so long as work gets done quickly and quietly, there was no need for her interference, still she feels the need to ask Taubert for any updates. Aside from a rumor of bandit activity around the smaller villages in the valley, it's business as usual.</p><p>The minutes tick by, more than half an hour, and still no sign of the general. Taubert is quick to tell Lady Morana how unusual that is in spite of having yesterday's session canceled outright. Last night was different, Striga had explained everything and all was well; it simply isn't like her to just not show up. With that being said, Morana will take it upon herself to look into the matter, dismissing Taubert to her usual duties.</p><p>Morana's anxiety is mild but noticeable as she partly retraces her steps through the palace. She stops only to step into the council chamber and snatch up one of the pitchers of blood from the cabinets; if Striga is isolating again, it's likely she hasn't had anything to drink. Even if that isn't the case, and all is as it should be, at least they could perhaps have one together.</p><p>Reaching Striga's door, she takes a moment to collect herself before knocking. She softly announces herself, not entirely expecting a response. If so, she'll just leave the blood and return to her apartment for the night.</p><p>"Come in." comes from behind the door, much to Morana's quiet surprise.</p><p>She's caught off guard to find it so dark inside, not pitch black, but it's clear the lightning glass isn't on. The sole source of light is coming from the fireplace, crimson and gold and shadows flickering across the floor until they diminish into darkness. The most brilliant of these colors and the heaviest of these shadows dance around Striga as she sits on the bear skin rug in front of the hearth, sunset and raven feathers. At least, what Morana could remember of sunset.</p><p>"Please, forgive my absence, Lady Morana." Striga apologizes with a tired shrug, making no effort to get up though she feels like she should. "I'm...afraid I'm not feeling my best tonight."</p><p>"No apologies necessary." She assured her softly.</p><p>"Is there business?"</p><p>"No, I merely wished to look in on you." Morana chances to advance, crossing the room with part of her expecting to be denied somehow. Still, she passes the common table, coming to edge of the firelight before she pauses of her own accord. "Have you had anything to drink?"</p><p>"I have not." Striga exhales. "I haven't had the desire to."</p><p>"All the same, you should."</p><p>Striga shifts to lean back on her palms, an empty smirk kinking her mouth. "Head of the household must do her part."</p><p>"More so that I am worried for my sister's well being," Morana counters, "as she is also my friend."</p><p>The smirk collapses and Striga dips her chin, eyes low and away. "Again, my apologies."</p><p>"Accepted, though I understand you're not quite yourself at the moment. Have you slept at all either?"</p><p>"I have not. Not enough to matter."</p><p>"Has something happened?"</p><p>"No, there are times when it just comes." Striga confesses, having no better way to explain it. "I think...being here, this new way of life...I'm not as occupied as I used to be, so my mind has more room to...do this."</p><p>Sympathy tugs Morana's heart and it manifests as a slight, saddened knit to her brow.</p><p>"Ah, excuse my rudeness, my lady, would you like to sit?"</p><p>"Am I welcome to stay? If you would rather be alone,"</p><p>Striga's instincts are telling her that alone is better, to send Morana on her way so she might agonize in peace. But she surprises herself, consciously choosing not to take Morana up on her offer. "Please, you are just as welcome here as anywhere. Perhaps...company will do me some good."</p><p>Morana smiles, taking a step forward and into the light. "May I sit with you?"</p><p>The firelight dancing off her beautiful brown skin, the way it flickers in her eyes makes her look alive, and for the swiftest second, Striga cannot speak. "I'm afraid the floor isn't very comfortable, but if it pleases you,"</p><p>"You have no problems sleeping here, so I don't see why sitting would be so troublesome." Morana teases gently.</p><p>"I'm <em>accustomed</em> to it."</p><p>Still, Morana settles an arm's length away, her skirt tucking around her folded legs to keep them covered as was proper. Morana sets her book in her lap and thinks now is the time to pass the pitcher forward. Striga receives it with a nod that Morana reciprocates. "At least the fur is soft. Have you truly not slept in the bed yet?"</p><p>"I have not." Striga feels like she's repeating herself, but the notion is brief, washed away with the first mouthful of blood. "Can't remember the last time I slept in a proper bed, much less one big enough for me to actually fit in."</p><p>"I'm fairly certain this one is big enough." Morana tries and fails not to laugh a little, especially when Striga does little more than inch her shoulders and lilt her head. "Perhaps you think it will be too soft?"</p><p>"Perhaps."</p><p>The conversation seems to drop there, punctuated by a loud snap from the hearth. Morana finds herself staring into the flames; not one to use her own fireplace very often, it's strangely novel to see it. She can't help but wonder why Striga bothers with it, certainly not because she feels cold.</p><p>Striga is staring too, as she is wont to do when she feels like this. Usually it is simply to allow her mind to be wiped clean by the flames, the flickering lights and the snaps of embers being enough to pull her away from her troubling thoughts. And the warmth reminds her of home in a good, comforting way.</p><p>"Would you like to talk about it?" Morana asks with a hint of caution.</p><p>"About what?"</p><p>"What's troubling you?"</p><p>Striga scowls, mostly to herself, and takes another long drink straight from the pitcher. "I would not."</p><p>Morana simply nods, accepting the answer though she hates to. "Is there nothing I can do for you?"</p><p>Striga takes a moment to think and take another drink."Your presence is enough for now." Because, strangely, it is the truth, though it never has been before. Not with anyone. Normally another body in the room would have made her anxious -no one was supposed to see her like this- but Morana...it's different somehow. It's like she belongs here, flawlessly a part of it all. <em>When did that happen?</em></p><p>Morana hopes against hope that Striga is too distracted to hear her heartbeat, because it is surely <em>pounding</em> . <em>My presence is enough...oh, that I could give you all of me.</em> And she can't ignore the intimacy of the setting, just like one of Lenore's romance books. <em>What sort of story would we write together, given the chance? </em></p><p>"Is...something wrong?"</p><p>Morana blinks. "Beg pardon?"</p><p>"You're staring at me," Striga explains plainly.</p><p>Morana shakes her head and smiles sheepishly, looking away. "Forgive me, I suppose I was just lost in thought."</p><p>"Hm." Striga nods once, looking at the fire again. She can't begin to imagine what had been going through her sister's mind to warrant such behavior, but has a sneaking suspicion that it's not her place to ask.</p><p>"I was wondering...do you not have any happy memories?"</p><p>Striga sighs. "A scant few, yes."</p><p>"Perhaps you could tell me about them? It might help your mood,"</p><p>"<em>Must</em> you insist on <em>talking</em>?" Striga growls, showing a little teeth. But she immediately sees and feels the change in the room, Morana flinching ever so slightly and the shift in the air. Striga tucks her fangs back where they belong and grimaces, eyes closed. "I am sorry, that was wrong."</p><p>"Apology accepted. Though, by the same token, I was pushing."</p><p>"Be that as it may, one should never raise their voice to a lady." Striga shifts, twisting around and lying down so her head is angled towards the fireplace. Her hands rest on her stomach and she starts to spin her ring, staring at the twisting shadows on the ceiling. "I suppose...talking is how you try to fix things, isn't it? You don't know how to just let things be."</p><p>Morana can't help but laugh. "I am afraid you've caught me, general."</p><p>"Not to say so to your detriment." Striga reassures her. "In that manner, you remind me very much of Welsh. That woman can't leave <em>shit</em> alone."</p><p>"Is...is that good?"</p><p>"It is, in it's own way." Striga smirks and nods to herself. "Welsh is an exceptional soldier, just as you are exceptional in your ways, and you are both my friends. I suppose what I mean to say is that I think I understand what you're trying to do, and I appreciate the effort, even if it doesn't seem like it. It was wrong of me to snap at you, as you meant me no harm."</p><p>"Thank you. Though I can't help but wonder what you put Welsh through."</p><p>"I didn't break her jaw, if that's what you're thinking." a little chuckle. "No, Welsh...she and I are alike, she understood enough about...this...to let me be when I needed it. She has her troubles, too, so,"</p><p>Morana nods. "I <em>did</em> offer to leave,"</p><p>"Yes, I know, let me finish," she requests softly, mindful of her tone. "I don't understand how words are supposed to help this...but I am open to learning. I'm just...set in my ways, and change is difficult."</p><p>"So I've heard." Morana smiles a little wider. "Still, I will endeavor to remember my own words, and let you share or withhold as you please."</p><p>"Many thanks, as I mean to withhold this evening." might as well be up front about it. Small talk is one thing, trotting out one's guts for another to scrutinize and dissect is another. "Not to say we cannot talk, just not about...those things."</p><p>"Of course." again Morana yields, again hating it in part, but still accepting. Some nights she can't help but curse her ravenous curiosity -she <em>needs</em> to <em>know things</em> ! "Then perhaps <em>you</em> could lead the conversation?"</p><p>Striga blinks up at the ceiling, her hand on her ring pausing. Oh...suppose she would have to. Then again, she could always suggest they sit and enjoy the quiet, they didn't necessarily <em>have</em> to talk. And these are <em>her</em> chambers, after all. But...still...</p><p>She starts turning her ring again, tucking her chin to look at Morana to ask "...What is that you're reading?"</p><p>"Homer's <em>Odyssey</em>. Or, more so, part of it. It's rather long, several volumes."</p><p>"What is it about?"</p><p>"It's about the Greek hero Odysseus' journey home following the Trojan War, and since he angered one of his gods, it took him ten years to get there."</p><p>"Sounds like a man."</p><p>"Doesn't it? And there is a witch that turns his sailors into swine."</p><p>"I don't suppose there is a book all about <em>her</em>, is there?"</p><p>"Unfortunately not." Morana laughs, though she is genuinely sad to say so. "I could just skip to that part, if you like,"</p><p>Striga's expression cuts with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. "You're offering to read to me?"</p><p>"Well," Morana feels blood in her cheeks and hopes the colors from the fireplace are enough to hide it. "I would never turn down a chance to share one of the great classics, and unless you can read Greek,"</p><p>"Suppose you would tuck me in as well?" Striga chuckles low and in the throat. "That's so sweet, my lady, I think I might be sick."</p><p>Morana grins with a little teeth. "Or I could throw the book at you, that should put you to sleep well enough."</p><p>"I've been hit in the face with bigger, heavier things," she vividly recalls being run over by a horses once, "but I think I will forgo the risk all the same. Read on, if it pleases you."</p><p>Morana's smile softens as she opens the book, the adhesive on the spine crackling a little. "Do you understand Greek? I could translate as I go, but I would have to read slower."</p><p>"Welsh read to her wife in Greek all the time. I wouldn't say I'm fluent, but I could piece it together for the most part." Striga finally lays her head back down and takes a breath, meaning to try and relax.</p><p>She lied, Striga knows it but doesn't feel guilty. The truth is that she doesn't understand Greek at all -maybe a few words that don't make any sense when put together- and she was tired of talking. This felt more polite, and with her current state of mind, even if she could understand what she was hearing it is highly unlikely she would retain any of it. So she simply lies there and listens, focusing more on the sound of Morana's voice, the way she reads coupled with the low pop and growl of the fireplace as she slowly spins her ring. All these little things, soft stimuli, make for a comfortable fog that Striga eventually loses herself to.</p><p>Though <em>The</em> <em>Odyssey</em> isn't a particular favorite, Morana still finds enough enjoyment to hold her attention, and is far too focused on reading to notice when she no longer has a conscious audience. Even if that wasn't the case, or if she had no book at all, she would have gotten lost in the moment itself. Surely she has dreamed of this before, perhaps with some slight variations -the bed was involved and their clothing was not, and yet she is no less content. When Morana does lift her eyes from the pages, she is not at all surprised that Striga is asleep and that the fire is dying down. In a way she is actually pleased, even smiling as she notes the perfect stillness of Striga's body, her hands folded over her stomach like a corpse in stasis.</p><p>With great care to be quiet, Morana closes the book and gathers herself together to stand. For a moment she is still, appearing to study Striga, but then takes a few silent steps and crouches down near where the general's feet are to gather up what looked to be her cloak. Does she honestly use this as a blanket? Couldn't Striga allow herself even a <em>little</em> comfort? However, Morana doesn't take this moment to decide what <em>she</em> thinks is best, and drapes the cloak across the slumbering vampire's form as one would a shroud, with care and quiet reverence.</p><p>Now Morana is studying her again, focusing on Striga's face. She looks so soft in sleep; it's a wonder that consciousness or a lack thereof could create such change in someone. Morana kneels down for a closer look, to give at least a little satisfaction to her longing. The dwindling glow of the fireplace still paints such striking colors across Striga's hair and skin. The predator in Morana marvels at it, the same part of her that longs to touch, to kiss, to <em>take</em>. How easy it would be to just reach out, or to press her lips, feather light, against Striga's...just a taste?</p><p>Morana closes her eyes and takes a slow, deep breath. No, that isn't right. Morana would never deny that she is, like most of her kind, selfish and self-serving, but she <em>refused</em> to be so bereft of decency as to stoop <em>that</em> low. Affection is not meant to be stolen, such acts are meant to be <em>shared</em> or they are simply not meant to be at all. Her moral piety does absolutely nothing for her thirsting desire, of course, but she resigns to live with it all the same.</p><p>"Sleep well, my general." she whispers. "May your dreams bring you comfort."</p><p>Standing up feels like pulling against the world, though leaving the room, once she finally takes the first step, is easier. Morana casts one last longing look through the space in the door, her heart feeling like it's whimpering as she gently pulls it closed.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The following night it appears that all routines are back in order. The snow had finally stopped and had melted enough during the day to open the courtyards again for Striga's training sessions. When Morana arrives, Striga and Taubert are already in the thick of it, but she's pleasantly surprised to find a vacant stool waiting for her, doubly so when she sees her book sitting on it. It is only just now that she realizes that she had forgotten it, though she isn't all that shocked at herself for doing it. As much as she loves her books, she wasn't entirely in her right mind last night. Morana smiles and takes her seat, holding the expression unconsciously, only to have it grow wide enough to show fangs when Striga happens to look her way and flicker a smirk. Morana has to consciously suppress the urge to swoon, an effort that steadily becomes more arduous the longer she watches them, because Taubert, though not exactly Morana's type, isn't unattractive either.</p><p>Then again, Morana can't imagine a woman alive -or undead- that didn't look amazing with a sword in her hands.</p><p>When the session concludes, after the customary handshake, Striga comes striding up to Morana with a knowing grin. "Evening, my lady, good to see you've found your book."</p><p>She can already feel blood in her cheeks just from being addressed in such a relaxed way. "Yes, thank you, I apologize for having left it."</p><p>"No apologies necessary." Striga nods once with a dismissive wave of one hand.</p><p>"You seem in a much better mood tonight, general. I trust you slept well?"</p><p>"I did, in fact." Better than she had in some time, though she can still hardly believe it. "And I appreciate you taking the time to comfort me, though I didn't mean to doze off in the middle of your reading."</p><p>"No offense taken. After all, it's what friends do."</p><p>"Indeed." Striga chuckles, though she isn't sure why. "Speaking of which, is there any business for you or I tonight? Anything that cannot wait?"</p><p>"Not that I am aware of."</p><p>"Then, if I remember correctly, you expressed interest in another round of <em>shatranj</em>; would tonight be agreeable to you?"</p><p>Morana's resulting smile is bright enough to shame the moon. "Absolutely. I'll go make the arrangements."</p><p>"Might I walk with you?" and the question is quick, almost sounding unintentional.</p><p>"Of course." is all she allows herself to say, because now Morana feels her heart starting to beat and all of this is feeling somewhat dreamlike. She tucks one talon against her palm, giving the slightest pressure until the edge pinches against her skin. Nothing changed? Then this is still very real. "I would welcome the company."</p><p>Striga just nods and smiles, gesturing with one hand for Morana to take the lead. They fall easily beside each other, strides and steps synching up, and there is no obvious hurry in their pace. They walk quietly until they've made it inside the palace and up the staircase to the second floor.</p><p>"I, uh," Striga starts unsteadily, still wondering if this was going to come out right or if she should say it all. "I am genuinely grateful for your time last night, my lady. That was some of the most sound sleep I've had in some time."</p><p>"And you are genuinely welcome. It was no trouble, I assure you."</p><p>"So I understand, but that isn't everything." Striga feels a brief fluttering behind her ribs, though she doesn't know why. "I've given the matter some thought...you've been trying to reach out to me, haven't you?"</p><p>"I...how do you mean?"</p><p>"All these things, checking in on me, trying to include me in not just the council but as a sister, trying to help me through my troubles...all this time you've been trying to tell me something,"</p><p>Morana can't help but stop on the spot, her heart lurching into a sprint against her sternum and blood rushing up into her face. Thankfully her expression doesn't betray the sudden mess of feelings pulsing through her, save for the slightest curiosity.</p><p>Striga stops a couple steps ahead, hands behind her back as she smoothly turns to face her sister. "You've been trying to tell me that you really trust me, haven't you? That I am really an important part to all this, well, not so much telling me as <em>showing</em> me... is that it?"</p><p>Part of Morana is relieved, and another part of her wants to scream; relieved that this is all Striga was alluding to, and screaming because this is <em>all</em> she was alluding to. There's a clawing menace of a thought trying to strong arm its way to the forefront of her mind, meaning to overpower her better sense and make her divulge <em>everything</em>.</p><p><em>No, no, it's still too soon. The board is set but you </em> cannot <em> show your hand.</em></p><p>Morana makes the conscious effort to soften her expression and take a breath, though it fails to do anything for her racing heart. With a deceptively easy smile, she answers "It is."</p><p>Striga nods. "Why not just say so?"</p><p>"Would you really have believed me? You were so defensive in the beginning, and I have seen that you are a woman of action, so I thought to connect with you in a way you would accept."</p><p>"And yet, even now, I haven't been the most receptive. I have met your kindness with quiet acceptance at best and resistance at worst, and by that same token I have done nothing to properly reciprocate your efforts. I have done nothing but take, and for that I hope you would forgive me."</p><p><em>Take all you want, I don't mind.</em> "In fairness, general, the others and I asked a great deal of you, and now more than before I understand how difficult that must have been, so I hardly hold it against you."</p><p>"Perhaps you should." and Striga doesn't know that the remorse in her voice and soft setting of her eyes is making Morana want to melt.</p><p>"Grudges make for poor foundations of trust." Morana lilts her head and inches her shoulders. "But if it is my forgiveness you truly want, you certainly have it, as we are all having to learn and make changes."</p><p>"You're as gracious as you are brilliant, Lady Morana, thank you. Shall we?" and she gestures with her hand, suggesting that they continue on their way.</p><p>They walk together, side by side once more, and make it some distance before Striga speaks again.</p><p>"How do you suppose I should make it up to you?"</p><p><em>I could think of a few things. </em>"I don't believe that is entirely up to me, general. But if you wish for my opinion," they exchange a look, as if to confirm, "I believe consideration in kind would be more than sufficient."</p><p>"Hmm." Striga nods, quiet for a moment. She feels pressed to do something more, the fork in the hallway where they will likely part ways is just ahead, and Striga means to make amends before they reach it. She feels she <em>needs</em> to. The amount of care, she realizes, that Morana has shown her up to now deserved an expedient answer. "So be it then. My door is always open to you, provided I am there, that is." a sheepish smirk. "Should you need anything from me, you only have to ask. And...outside of the council chamber, at least...you may use my given name."</p><p>"<em>My</em>, what an honor,"</p><p>"Come now, don't tease, I'm making an effort."</p><p>"And I see it very well." She smiles at Striga to show she meant no harm, and Striga's own shows Morana she isn't offended. "I know your rank means quite a lot to you, as it should seeing as you more than earned it, so rest assured that I am rather humbled by such a concession. By the same token, you're free to use my given name also."</p><p>"If it pleases you."</p><p><em>It certainly does</em>. Morana's brow suddenly quirks, though she keeps her eyes forward. "Has my consent been the only thing keeping you from doing so?"</p><p>"Naturally. As heads of state, decorum is important."</p><p>"Not so important with Lenore?"</p><p>A moment's hesitation. "She is...disarming in a way, if that makes any sense."</p><p>"It does, actually." Morana admits frankly. "It's why she's such an effective diplomat. I'm convinced she could make the <em>dead</em> talk."</p><p>"I don't doubt." And neither of them are so much amused at the idea as they are unsettled.</p><p>At last they come to where the corridor splits in two, taking a step away from one another before stopping.</p><p>"Suppose I'll see you in an hour? Would that be long enough?" Striga asks.</p><p>"Come when you are ready, and be prepared to lose, as I mean to beat you this time." Morana flashes a daring grin.</p><p>"We shall see, my lady."</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><span class="u"> Author's Note: </span> Being a writer is wild; one minute I hate that I have these two characters are taking up all the "screen time" and then I remember that the story is <em> about them </em> and it's all good again. And I have a good feeling that you folks don't mind. This kind of marks a turning point in the story as well, I think it's about time that things start moving along, seeing as all the niceties are out in the open and some of the prim and proper stuff is out of the way for them. Next chapter, we're going to have a look at Morana on an off day and see how Striga handles it. Here's a hint: it's soft and gay. Thanks for all the support and I'll catch you all later!</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter Nine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"So she's beaten you <em>twice</em><span> now?" Lenore asks as she props herself against the wall beside Morana's desk, arms crossed. "Is that why you're looking so domestic tonight?" Because, to be entirely truthful, her sister appears to have simply rolled out of bed and thrown a housecoat over her nightgown and a heavy looking woolen shawl around her shoulders.</span></p>
<p>
  <span> Morana sighs, her head resting against her fist as she props her elbow on her desk. "Remind me, Lenore, did I actually invite you in or did you just </span>
  <em>appear</em>
  <span> when you sensed someone suffering?"</span>
</p>
<p>Lenore can't help but chuckle. "Did you lose so soundly, sister?"</p>
<p>Her lips thin and show teeth that don't come apart when she answers, "My ego isn't so soft as to bring me this low."</p>
<p>Lenore's amusement suddenly dies, leeching from her face that now kinks to show a mixture of curiosity and concern. It's so rare that Morana behaves this way, sometimes Lenore forgets that she's even capable of it. She looks Morana over again, this time with a different perspective, and realizes this is not about being a sore loser. "...Would you like to have Cassius for a while? His company seems to help you."</p>
<p>"It isn't necessary, I will be fine. I just...it will pass."</p>
<p>
  <span> "Well, clearly you're </span>
  <em>not</em>
  <span> fine, you haven't done your hair or anything." Lenore cocks her head, her expression softening with a touch of pity. "Is Striga coming back tonight?"</span>
</p>
<p>"She is." They are in the middle of their third game, after all.</p>
<p>"And you're all right with letting her see you like this?"</p>
<p>Morana says nothing at first, pretending to focus on the work in front of her that still isn't getting done. Then "Suppose it's only fair. I've seen her at less than her best, so,"</p>
<p>"Fair enough. Are you hoping she'll be willing to comfort you?"</p>
<p>"Perhaps."</p>
<p>Lenore smiles just a little. "Aren't we getting ambitious,"</p>
<p>"We're making progress, I want to see just how much. Coincidentally, I have just the circumstances to do so." Not that she wanted to be guilty of exploiting this awful, personal mess of hers. It's more so making the most of a bad situation.</p>
<p>"...Have you told her that you're a lesbian?"</p>
<p>"The proper moment hasn't presented itself yet, no." Morana exhales. "It hasn't felt right."</p>
<p>"I suppose I understand. That would be a serious play on your part."</p>
<p>"It would, that's why I'm not making it yet." Morana leans back in her chair, eventually tipping up her chin so she can look her sister in the eyes. "But, soon enough I won't have much choice, I believe."</p>
<p>"You always have a choice, Morana, though I think I see what you mean. There's a point of no return for everything, isn't there?" she watches Morana nod and how her brow creases with discomfort as her slender fingers curl into her shawl and pull it tighter around her shoulders. "Is it bad?"</p>
<p>"No more than usual, but it has been some time." and it's rare that she has ever woken up with it, like tonight.</p>
<p>
  <span> "You're </span>
  <em>sure</em>
  <span> you don't want one of my little ones to keep you company?" Lenore's tone has softened and she smiles a little. There's no sarcasm or jest to the look, just her own brand of compassion.</span>
</p>
<p>"I am certain, but thank you all the same." Morana tries to return the gesture, but her own smile feels and looks tight and uncomfortable.</p>
<p>"Very well, if you insist. Best of luck to you, sister." Lenore moves close enough to smooth a hand over Morana's and to give her a little kiss on the temple. "If it doesn't work out, you're welcome to come to my room, I don't mind hosting a sleep over for you."</p>
<p>A little laugh. "I don't think that will be necessary, but again, you have my thanks. Goodnight."</p>
<p>"Goodnight."</p>
<p>Being alone doesn't make the abrasive, skin deep ache any better, though a part of Morana had hoped it would. It occasionally did, but tonight wasn't such a time.</p>
<p>
  <span> This pain without a name has haunted her since she was alive, but becoming a vampire had, like many other facets of her self, amplified it to a startlingly inhuman degree. When she was alive, it was simply a sort of anxiety, a desire to do something without the ability to focus enough to accomplish anything, coupled with a strange need to be </span>
  <em>crushed</em>
  <span>. Now, with her supernatural senses, it's all that and more, and the only way she can think to describe the way she feels is </span>
  <em>fragile</em>
  <span>. She knows where it comes from and what she needs to ease it, and she all but prays that Striga would be willing to provide that.</span>
</p>
<p>Morana briefly wonders if this is manipulative, if this is somehow wrong. Then, when flexing her hand makes her skin feel like it's cracking, the notion disappears.</p>
<p>
  <span> She then rises from her desk, meaning to at least </span>
  <em>try</em>
  <span> and make herself a little more presentable. Morana doesn't style her hair, but puts forth the effort to comb it and tie it back in a half tail. She ties the housecoat closed and puts on a pair of slippers, refusing to be barefoot and because the idea of wearing heels is not only intolerable but also in poor fashion sense, which is just as awful in Morana's mind. For a moment she stands beside her bed and just glares at it, thinking to slink back beneath the dense pile of blankets and let them smother her. That, the chance of potentially immediate relief, is </span>
  <em>so</em>
  <span> tempting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>No, see this through, it will be worth it. And if it isn't, there will be plenty of time to hide in bed afterwards. </em>
</p>
<p>But she will compromise with herself and drag one of the smaller blankets from the foot of the bed and pull it around herself, the added weight cushioning her discomfort.</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana doesn't ignore her other needs, though she has to consciously force herself to see to them. Feeling like this doesn't so much discourage her sanguine appetite as it simply overwhelms it, making the idea of being bedridden paramount in comparison to feeding. She makes herself drink a full glass in one toss, like a child who has to take their medicine -it's necessary yet she seems to hate it, but it takes a bit of the edge off her nerves. From there she grabs a book from the shelf, </span>
  <em>Sir Gawain and the Green Knight</em>
  <span> as she is sick of Homer tonight, taking that and the pitcher of blood from her desk to go and sit on the chaise she had occupied the night before. She finds lounging to be less of a burden than standing, but still can only give pieces of her focus to the book. Her eyes dart between the pages and the </span>
  <em>shatranj</em>
  <span> board, part of her mind trying to formulate a means of winning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>But...what if I am not </em>
  <span>meant</span>
  <em> to </em>
  <span>win</span>
  <em>?</em>
  <span> The notion gives her startling pause, everything else collapsing around it. Morana has never once thought herself to be a superstitious person, but </span>
  <em>what if</em>
  <span>? Perhaps Fate was trying to send her a sign, a warning. Is this developing string of losses...some sort of omen?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Her face slowly twists into a vicious, spiteful sort of snarl. </span>
  <em>Fucking nonsense. Fate ceased to be my master the moment I rose from my deathbed.</em>
</p>
<p>Though her focus never fully comes back together, she seems content for it to shift from the book to the board and back again, getting lost in the exchange as the hours ease on. Morana hardly notices the time, to be honest, but there is a sneaking suspicion in the back of her mind that Striga should have arrived by now. However, Morana is certain that whatever is keeping the general is important.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span> Striga is mentally chastising herself as she stalks through the palace at a healthy clip, her brow set heavy with a brand of concern. She should have sent word that she would be late, sent word of some kind regardless. It wouldn't be so bad if those bandit bastards hadn't been so insistent on fleeing, and damn it all, it's nearly dawn already. Part of her hopes that Morana won't be too cross, and on the same string of thought, Striga faintly recalls a time not too long ago when she didn't care. Funny how things change.</span>
</p>
<p>Still wearing her armor and with her bow and quiver securely tucked under her arm, Striga makes for Morana's apartment. She means to apologize in person -it's the honorable thing to do- and taking the time to get out of it all and put it away would surely leave her with the good lady fast asleep and herself stewing in the mild guilt she already feels mounting in her chest. Her heart is actually beating, not frantically but quick and steady all the same. Striga comes to a snapping, back-straightening stop in front of Morana's door, clearing her throat and taking a breath in an unconscious hope of settling her pulse. Then she knocks, announces herself, and patiently waits.</p>
<p>The longer she has to wait, the more her guilt becomes visible on her face.</p>
<p>"Come in."</p>
<p>Striga didn't realize she was actually holding her breath until she releases it, a most brief hesitation blossoming from the subsequent puzzlement at the action. A quick shake of her head is enough to dispel it, and she allows herself through the door.</p>
<p>"A thousand apologies, my lady," Striga starts as she closes the door behind her. She quickly turns and starts across the room, pausing at the unoccupied chaise across from where Morana lounges. "I should have sent word but...there simply wasn't an opportunity."</p>
<p>Morana shifts lethargically beneath the twisted blanket, stifling a yawn behind her fist. "It's quite all right, surely the matter needed your full attention." She looks at Striga and blinks, realizing exactly what she's looking at. "Has something happened?"</p>
<p>"No, no, well, yes. Did Taubert happen to mention the bandits in the valley?"</p>
<p>"Ah, yes, that, last night," she's nodding, now trying to sit up properly. She spots her book about to fall to the floor, catching it and closing it before setting it on the table.</p>
<p>"Word came back that they had begun killing villagers, so we went to deal with the matter."</p>
<p>Morana smiles. "And I have no doubt that you were successful."</p>
<p>"Indeed."</p>
<p>"My hero." and she doesn't realize what she said until Striga's face stretches with obvious surprise. "How did the troops take to your command?" she shifts the subject quickly, gracefully.</p>
<p>"As well as can be expected." Striga nods once.</p>
<p>"Excellent. I'd ask if you've had anything to drink, but," Morana brings her hand up to her own face, tapping the edge of her mouth with the tip of her talon, "it appears you have."</p>
<p>"Oh." the realization hits her and Striga quickly wipes away the smudge of copper. "No need to waste a warm body, after all."</p>
<p>"How resourceful."</p>
<p>"Well...I merely came to offer apologies for my absence, seeing as it is so late. Perhaps we could reschedule?"</p>
<p>"Of course. Tomorrow night, then? Provided there are no more bandits?" she smirks, and then it dies when she sees the way Striga's own expression turns oddly.</p>
<p>
  <span> Striga's head cocks to the side in that trademark dog like way. "With all due respect, my lady, are you all right?" Because she seems anything but. Morana seems listless and...Striga hesitates to use the word </span>
  <em>ill</em>
  <span> because that simply isn't possible. Vampires were above such things.</span>
</p>
<p>Morana's reflexive answer would have been yes. Her entire life it had been understood that one keeps their troubles to themselves, so forcing herself to speak up is a herculean effort. "Not entirely, I'm afraid."</p>
<p>"Have you had anything to drink?"</p>
<p>"I have." Morana gestures to the near empty pitcher on the table beside her book.</p>
<p>"Did you sleep well enough?"</p>
<p>
  <span> "I did." </span>
  <em>Is this what </em>
  <span>I</span>
  <em> sound like?</em>
</p>
<p>Striga smirks and clucks, "Surely you did not miss my company so much,"</p>
<p>"Of course I did." Morana replies plainly, and judges that to have been an unexpected answer by the way shock flickers in Striga's eyes. "Be that as it may, the truth is that I, like you, have troubles of my own that can manifest without prompting at times. Though mine are more...physical."</p>
<p>
  <span> "You are not </span>
  <em>sick</em>
  <span>."</span>
</p>
<p>"Of course not." Morana gives a dismissive wave of her hand and a shake of her head. "It's a strange thing left over from when I was alive, I'm not entirely sure what to call it, only that it is an ache of sorts. Like a hunger, only...in my body, I suppose. Does that make sense?"</p>
<p>One could only assume that it did, as Striga's only answer is "What can I do?"</p>
<p>"Beg pardon?"</p>
<p>"You are my sister and my friend, and you are suffering," Striga says like it should be obvious. "What can I do?"</p>
<p>For a moment Morana can only stare at her. How else was she supposed to react to getting exactly what she wanted? "You could stay awhile, if you please."</p>
<p>One sable brow rises. "Is that all?"</p>
<p>"For the moment, yes."</p>
<p>"Very well." Striga still hasn't the slightest idea how this is supposed to help, but obliges all the same. With a hand gesture from Morana, Striga props her bow and quiver against the chaise and starts unbuckling her sword belt, wholly unaware of how keenly Morana watches her do it. Then she removes her cloak, breastplate, bracers and gloves to drape over the raised portion of the chaise.</p>
<p>
  <span> From her seat, Morana marvels at how the removal of all that hadn't detracted from Striga's stature at all, at least not in a way that she could notice. Then again, her observation could be considered biased. Now all she can think about is what it must have been like to witness her out there, hunting humans in the dead of night, riding like the devil to cut them down and bleed them dry. She wonders how exactly Striga goes about it; is she quick, almost merciful, no nonsense? If the state of her armor was any indication, her kills are certainly </span>
  <em>clean</em>
  <span>. Did she find any enjoyment in wielding mortality with all the ease of a blade?</span>
</p>
<p>"You're staring again." Striga says softly.</p>
<p>"Forgive me." though her faint smirk belies her lack of guilt.</p>
<p>"Forgiven, as you are not yourself it seems."</p>
<p>
  <em>And what if I were to confess that I am still, very much, myself? What if I were to beg for your attention, your touch, instead of your forgiveness? Oh, that I were so courageous.</em>
</p>
<p>"Morana,"</p>
<p>Now her clarity is razor sharp and crystal clear. Every ounce of her attention is now focused on the woman across from her, meeting her eyes and holding Striga's soft gaze.</p>
<p>"Perhaps it's better that you go to bed. We can visit again tomorrow."</p>
<p>"Nonsense, you've only just arrived. And you offered to help,"</p>
<p>"Yes I did, and I believe the best way to help you is to get you into bed."</p>
<p>"And I suppose you mean to make me?"</p>
<p>"Stubborn woman." Striga grunts.</p>
<p>Morana thinks that's the lot of it, that Striga means to just fume and shake her head at her, but that wasn't the case. Three certain, long-legged strides bring Striga from one chaise to the other, standing between Morana and the table, and without a second thought she bends down and scoops Morana up from her seat, blankets and all. The way Striga hauls her up without even a grunt of effort, it's as if Morana weighs absolutely nothing.</p>
<p>Morana cannot even pretend to be upset about this, even if she wanted to, not when it's absolutely everything her body is craving. There is no protest on her part, there aren't any words to give at all, and she simply accepts her place in Striga's arms, feels her strength and smells the forest and the warmth of blood in her clothes.</p>
<p>
  <span> Striga is once again hoping Morana won't be angry with her, but damn it all, she </span>
  <em>was</em>
  <span> being stubborn. And surely </span>
  <em>she</em>
  <span> would have done no less were their roles reverse. In any case, this is the way things are now, and Striga had far less inclination to look like an absolute fool by turning back on her intent than being scolded. It isn't like she's all that heavy anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>Thankfully Morana's bed is still in the state it was when she first emerged after sundown, the blankets already folded over and leaving a perfect space for Striga to set her sister down. Straightening up, Striga crosses her arms and glares at her neutrally, waiting for whatever reaction Morana might have ready for her, like Morana is a trap waiting to spring. To her surprise, Morana simply mimics her posture and stares right back, even going so far as to copy her expression.</p>
<p>"Well?" Striga dares at last, but her tone remains relatively soft.</p>
<p>
  <span> "Well what? You seem content to do as you like, so why not continue?" because a part of her </span>
  <em>really</em>
  <span> wants her to.</span>
</p>
<p>"I am merely trying to help. Perhaps I do not do it with all the grace you seem to, but," Striga grumbles. "If all you mean to do in kind is sass me, then I will bid you good morning and be on my way."</p>
<p>Morana feels her ribs clench and her heart stop when Striga starts to turn. "Wait, I'm sorry, Striga. Please stay."</p>
<p>Something about the way Morana says her name...Striga doesn't know what it is, but it makes her stop without a second thought. She looks to Morana, sees the naked sincerity on her face, and shrugs. "What else can I do? Provided I am allowed to,"</p>
<p>Morana feels the same relief as someone having narrowly avoided disaster, and decides to take this suddenly precious opportunity. She gestures with her hand, "Sit, if you would." A small part of her is surprised when she does, the mattress sinking as Striga occupies the end of the bed and leans back against the bedpost. "It...I am not accustomed to talking about this, so I apologize for being so obstinate."</p>
<p>"And I apologize for handling you without your permission."</p>
<p>
  <em>That is the </em>
  <span>least</span>
  <em> of my worries.</em>
  <span> "Though you were right, I was unreasonable."</span>
</p>
<p>"It's not an excuse. But, to the matter at hand,"</p>
<p>Morana hums and nods, pulling her legs up to press against her chest a little, her nerves in need of the pressure now that she is no longer being held. "Lenore and Carmilla are aware of it, so there is no need to discuss it with them and...perhaps you can understand that there are certain things you hesitate to entrust to others, even those you care about." Because Lenore is chaos incarnate at the best of times, and Carmilla is...it's complicated.</p>
<p>"I do, yes."</p>
<p>"Then I suppose I should explain." All of a sudden she feels exposed, and she's having trouble deciding whether or not she likes it. "If you wish for an explanation, that is,"</p>
<p>"If it helps you to speak, then speak. I will listen."</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana nods and she takes a breath, that sense of vulnerability mounting. </span>
  <em>Oh no, now is not the time to be timid. This is exactly what you wanted. Take it.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Thankfully it is a short story." Morana tries to laugh off her discomfort, unsure if she succeeds. "My parents were good, kind people, and they loved me, and made it well known to me. However, after I reached a certain age, it seemed like showing me physical affection just...was no longer appropriate. I didn't really understand it as a child, I simply knew that it was just how things were done. But, regardless...it didn't stop me from </span>
  <em>needing</em>
  <span> it." she laughs again. "This must sound absurd to you."</span>
</p>
<p>"Not at all." Striga says frankly. "Please," and she gestures with her hand, meaning for Morana to continue.</p>
<p>
  <span> Somehow that's comforting, knowing that there was no judgment from Striga as of yet. It takes her a moment, but Morana proceeds. "My father would hold my hand everywhere we went, but then he stopped. When I was turning, my mother was with me the entire time, and I all but begged her just to...</span>
  <em>hold on to me</em>
  <span>, but she wouldn't. They never explained themselves...but I never really found a way to ask. Safe to say the matter never really improved, especially after they passed and I moved on."</span>
</p>
<p>"I had suspected as much."</p>
<p>"Oh?"</p>
<p>
  <span> Striga nods. "A woman in a place of power, a vampire, and an incredible mind such as yours? Any </span>
  <em>one</em>
  <span> of those circumstances is enough to warrant a solitary life, much less all three together."</span>
</p>
<p>If Morana had the right words to articulate how impressed she was, she would surely have shared them.</p>
<p>
  <span> "Though, if I may be so bold to ask, why not seek out a companion? While I understand that isn't the easiest matter to attend to -especially for </span>
  <em>our </em>
  <span>kind," and Striga gives her a look, an expression that says Morana should be able to predict what she means.</span>
</p>
<p>And in a way she does. "I have certainly considered it." Her ribs are clenching again, sensing the question that Striga may or may not ask, which is solely dependent on what Morana chooses to say next. "As you said, it isn't easy to begin with, but I also have certain...preferences that make it that much more difficult." Then her heart immediately begins to race, and she feels the knee-jerk need to duck and cover. "But that's beside the point."</p>
<p>"Is it?"</p>
<p>"At the moment, yes." Because now, she believes, isn't the right time for that truth. "The point is, I...am loath to admit it, but there are still nights where I want nothing more than to be held. And, as it was when I was alive, it is sometimes painful to go without." Morana's eyes have dropped, now staring at the bends of her knees. She can't stand to feel this open and still hold Striga's gaze. "It is a hunger that I do not have the means to fully sate on my own."</p>
<p>Striga waits, thinking, wondering if there is more her sister means to say. A moment drifts by, an opportunity for both of them to notice the growing light of sunrise threatening outside the window that has yet to have the curtains drawn together. When it seems clear that Morana has no more story to tell, Striga stands up. She goes to the window and pulls the drapes, the room now lit only by the lightning glass. Coming back, she sees that Morana hasn't moved, eyes still averted until she crosses the floor and comes to stand beside her again.</p>
<p>"You need only ask, Morana."</p>
<p>There's her name again in that soft, deep voice that threatens to crush her sensibilities. In a way this all feels like a dream; perhaps she is still on the chaise across the room, fast asleep and alone. But the still tangible ache in her flesh reminds her of reality, grounding pins and needles. And if it weren't for any of that, looking up and seeing Striga's expression, so soft and open and honest, might have been enough to reassure her.</p>
<p>For a moment, Morana can't help but wonder if this is what it feels like to stand on the edge of the abyss with the explicit intention of throwing yourself into it.</p>
<p>"Please?" and Morana holds out her hand, thinking it the most she can reasonably ask for, hoping it isn't too much. Because for all the good general's well meaning, Striga does not seem like the particularly affectionate type.</p>
<p>But it is another miscalculated assumption on Morana's part.</p>
<p>Sure enough, Striga does indeed take Morana's hand, holds it carefully with thought to her talons and it's smaller, almost dainty size, and then she smooths her other hand over it, to Morana's pleased surprise. Morana's hand is lost between Striga's calloused palms, and in that moment it feels like enough. Just a little longer and perhaps the ache would ease.</p>
<p>But Striga doesn't stop there. She sees that Morana is comfortable with this little contact, finds that she is also surprisingly at ease with it, and resolves to do better for her sister's sake. "Move aside."</p>
<p>"Pardon?"</p>
<p>"You expressed a need to be held, and I shall oblige you if that is what you wish."</p>
<p>
  <span> It's starting to feel like a dream again, and for a brief instant, Morana simply cannot respond. It's too good to be true and she doesn't know how to process it. But, eventually, when Striga raises her brows expectantly, Morana manages to move herself over and make sufficient space without letting go of Striga's hand.</span>
</p>
<p>"Your pillows are enormous." Striga says when she sits where Morana had once been, said pillows puffing up loudly when her weight settles on them.</p>
<p>"I like large pillows." Morana defends with the littlest laugh, presently reaching for one with her other hand to situate beneath her. "Makes the bed feel not as big."</p>
<p>"That's really a thing?"</p>
<p>"Perhaps not for someone who sleeps on the floor, but yes."</p>
<p>Striga side eyes her, sees she means no harm in the jab, but also sees that she is rather serious. To think someone could be so lonely that fat pillows and heavy blankets are the only help they felt they had, that asking for something so simple as physical contact with someone else seemed like some arduous chore. It's tragic.</p>
<p>Striga settles in a half-sitting position, her back partly bracing the headboard, and she crosses her legs in such a way that one foot sits atop the opposing knee while the other foot rests on the floor. She didn't want her boots in Morana's bed, and wasn't sure if she was at liberty to take them off, or if Morana meant for her to stay long enough to warrant it. Now she waits, her free hand up and waiting for Morana to find wherever it is she means to be, while her other hand, still joined with her sister's, rests atop her stomach. She and Morana meet eyes, hold a curious gaze, and then Morana blinks as she realizes Striga's intent.</p>
<p>"You're not uncomfortable with this?" Morana asks, because a part of her feels like she is about to cross a line she shouldn't.</p>
<p>"I am not."</p>
<p>"You're certain?"</p>
<p>"I am, provided you are."</p>
<p>
  <span> Of course she is, but she doesn't want to appear </span>
  <em>too</em>
  <span> eager, so Morana simply nods and inches closer. She cannot find the words among the myriad of languages she knows to properly describe the feeling that swells up in her chest when she rests her head against Striga's shoulder, a feeling that only expounds when her muscled arm crosses Morana's back that her hand might rest at Morana's waist. Morana shifts only a little more, working her free hand against her chest in hopes that it would muffle the surely thunderous pounding of her own heart.</span>
</p>
<p>"This helps?"</p>
<p>"It does." Morana exhales comfortably. And if she were being any more forward, she would mention how the vibrations of Striga's voice were rather helpful as well. "Thank you."</p>
<p>
  <span> "Of course." Striga says it like it's the easiest thing in the world. And it is, actually, more so than she thought it would be. Then again, keeping one's word always held a unique form of satisfaction for Striga; she had promised to care for her sister, and following through on that made any labor as effortless as breathing. So to speak. And it isn't like this is actually </span>
  <em>labor</em>
  <span>. Striga wanted to laugh at the little hope that any honorable endeavor she might undertake could be so easy -easy, soft, and with a faint scent of jasmine oil. If that were the case she might have conquered the world by now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> If Heaven does actually exist, Morana believes it must be something like this. True, it isn't the complete picture of bliss she wished it could be -still too much left unsaid and unknown- but it is </span>
  <em>so</em>
  <span> close to perfect. She feels safe and secure, like everything else is </span>
  <em>out there</em>
  <span>, beyond Striga's embrace, and can't possibly touch her. </span>
</p>
<p>"You may stay, if you wish." Morana says without really thinking.</p>
<p>"Sleep here, you mean?"</p>
<p>"I do."</p>
<p>Striga stares between the posts at the foot of the bed, towards the door, her brow skewed with thought. "Is...that appropriate?"</p>
<p>
  <span> "This is </span>
  <em>our</em>
  <span> castle, </span>
  <em>we</em>
  <span> decide what is appropriate."</span>
</p>
<p>"True enough." Striga lilts her head.</p>
<p>Morana can't help but smile. "Are you concerned about starting rumors?"</p>
<p>"You certainly don't seem to be,"</p>
<p>
  <span> "Because there is no reason to worry. As I said, this is </span>
  <em>our</em>
  <span> castle, we do as we please, and what others make of it is not our concern."</span>
</p>
<p>"Hmm. If you say so." though she isn't entirely sure if she trusts the idea. It was the soldier in her; there are protocols and procedures, and Morana's invitation was going against a few of them. "I will consider it."</p>
<p>
  <span> "Very well." Morana accepts it, thinking it to be the closest she could hope for to an outright </span>
  <em>yes</em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>For a time it is quiet, save for the soft hum of the lightning glass that their sensitive ears can pick up. Morana takes the moment to close her eyes and simply enjoy it as, for now, she has everything she wants. Striga seems content as well, though her mind is busy with trying to place where she has smelled the jasmine oil before, aside from while in Morana's presence. She can't help but notice how soft Morana's hair looks from so close. She can't think of what the rich color and natural waves in the dull sheen of the lightning glass reminds her of either, and she stares for who knows how long in an attempt to place it. It never comes, but at least the view is nice.</p>
<p>When she feels she has stared too long, Striga gently shifts, settling a little further down.</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana hums in reaction. "You have such large hands." again, speaking without thinking, only fixated on the stated fact when she felt Striga's hand move a little. "I don't think I have even met a </span>
  <em>man</em>
  <span> with hands as large as yours."</span>
</p>
<p>"Hm." a little chuckle. "My father's hands."</p>
<p>Morana opens her eyes, interest piqued. "You remember him?"</p>
<p>"I do." Striga exhales, holding a small, brief smile. "One of the few good things. I think you might have liked him."</p>
<p>"Oh?"</p>
<p>"Yes. He was never one to withhold his affection, not from anyone. Always hugging, holding my hand, carrying me around until I was too big."</p>
<p>"Would you tell me about him?" Morana asks with a hint of hesitation.</p>
<p>Striga has to think about it, weigh it as her brow furrows. All of her memories are so private, almost sacred, letting someone else see them...</p>
<p>
  <span> But this is Morana, her </span>
  <em>friend</em>
  <span>. Perhaps being a </span>
  <em>little</em>
  <span> better known to </span>
  <em>her</em>
  <span> wasn't such a great risk?</span>
</p>
<p>Striga takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, adjusting her grip on Morana's hand. "He was the most gentle man I have ever known, and no one was a stranger around him; he'd find an unfamiliar face in a crowd and make them feel like a life-long friend. Once he allowed a Speaker caravan stay in our pasture, fed them and treated them like family." She smiles to herself. "He raised me on his own, you know."</p>
<p>"What about your mother?"</p>
<p>"I didn't get a chance to know her. She was a fur trader, and shortly after I was born she went out on a hunt and just...never came back." Striga explains plainly, detached, never having strong feelings about it as she was simply much too small to have formed any sort of bond with the woman. "Papa missed her desperately. He hid it well, but I still knew."</p>
<p>"How did you and your father survive?"</p>
<p>"He was a mercenary as a young man, until he lost his leg. He learned woodcarving while trying to make a false leg for himself, and then he was able to get an apprenticeship with a smith. My grandparents were farmers and he picked up tanning from my mother, so he had a number of ways to provide for us."</p>
<p>"He sounds like an exceptional man. Do you share much of his likeness?"</p>
<p>"Quite. Of course, I cannot grow the majestic beard he had," Striga chuckles, comforted when Morana does as well. "But yes, I do. Though, according to papa, my mother was the tall one."</p>
<p>"Really?"</p>
<p>
  <span> "Mmm-hmm." Striga nods. "My mother left me her stature and her eyes, while papa was hardly the same height as Lenore. He was built like a tree trunk, frankly, round and stout and rough looking. I remember...he would call me </span>
  <em>his little giant</em>
  <span>." the nickname comes out in her native Slavic dialect, as she is unsure of the Latin translation, but she is confident that Morana understands. She assumes she does, as Morana makes a soft, delighted sound. "Because I was; he always bragged about how big a baby I had been. By the time I was twelve I was already a head taller than him."</span>
</p>
<p>"Goodness." Morana is smiling from ear to ear, just imagining what Striga might have looked like as a child. An absolute rampart of a woman like Striga as little more than a fragile, helpless infant, is a strangely humanizing idea, but a wonderful one. "Did your father teach you to fight?"</p>
<p>"He did, yes. I had to all but beg him; he didn't like the idea, but knew it was best because he wasn't going to be around forever, and he never pushed me to marry, so,"</p>
<p>"Is that how you lost that bit of your ear?"</p>
<p>
  <span> "It is." Striga laughs again. "I had never seen a grown man cry before, and he cried for </span>
  <em>hours</em>
  <span>. He wouldn't let me out of his sight for the rest of the day and said he was sorry at least a hundred times after that."</span>
</p>
<p>"He sounds delightful." Morana laughs softly. "And it seems he loved you very much."</p>
<p>"Yes, he did." Striga swallows the sudden lump in her throat, tries to ignore the little burn in her eyes. She missed him so, and reminiscing wasn't doing anything to help the steadily growing ache in her heart. It's threatening to spoil this...whatever it is.</p>
<p>"Could I ask...did he know? About your turning?" and part of Morana regrets having asked the moment the question left her mouth. She feels like delving into that was too far, but it's much too late to take it back. "If you do not wish to speak of it, I will not press you further."</p>
<p>"It's...it's all right, I suppose. You've been so open with me,"</p>
<p>
  <span> "But I don't wish that you should feel obligated to do the same. You should </span>
  <em>want</em>
  <span> to."</span>
</p>
<p>"Well, perhaps I want to?" Striga counters gently. "You bond through speaking, yes? And I wish for us to be better friends, so,"</p>
<p>Morana mentally cringes at the little guilt surging into something bigger. Surely there had to have been a better, more gentle way to do this, to bring about this conversation, but Morana feels she had been too eager. She makes a note to do better in the future. "Very well, if you're certain."</p>
<p>Striga just nods in acknowledgment, curious of the way Morana suddenly holds her hand a little tighter. "But yes, papa knew. After it happened...my first thought was to return home, and he knew something was wrong the instant he laid eyes on me. So he gave me my mother's ring, a sword and a horse, and begged me to leave." she can feel her voice threatening to break, her father's exact words echoing in her mind. "While our home wasn't all that close to the nearest village, it was close enough that it wouldn't be long before someone grew suspicious. Papa knew what would happen if anyone found out...he didn't want that to happen to me."</p>
<p>"Did he not go with you? Couldn't he?"</p>
<p>"I asked him to, but," she had sobbed and pleaded with him. "He, ah," Striga clears her throat, "he believed he would eventually get up the courage to kill me. He didn't want to live with that."</p>
<p>
  <em>"These hands that held you all your life,"</em>
  <span> he had cried, </span>
  <em>"you </em>
  <em>
    <b>cannot</b>
  </em>
  <em> ask me to use these hands to deliver you to Hell. I love you too much."</em>
</p>
<p>"Striga," Morana exhales softly, sympathetically.</p>
<p>"I do not resent him, but I am not exactly grateful for his mercy, either." But perhaps she does, because her voice is stable now, and it's because of the bitterness that she feels from time to time with the equally occasional loathing for her own being. "Still, I left...and I have never felt at home anywhere since."</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana cannot help but want to ask more questions, to beg to know what happened in its entirety and know </span>
  <em>just how much</em>
  <span> hurt fury she should be feeling now. But that is not her place to ask and that only serves to make her </span>
  <em>angrier</em>
  <span>. But not at her sister, no, not her.</span>
</p>
<p>It's a while before either of them speaks again, no knowing how long. Sunlight starts peeking out from beneath the hem of the drapes, so it's certainly morning.</p>
<p>"How do you feel now?" Striga asks just above a whisper. Morana had been incredibly still this last little while, and she thinks she might have dozed off. Not that it would be a problem if she did.</p>
<p>"Better," which is true, the ache in her skin has eased; forgotten in her seething, most likely. "And worse, in a way."</p>
<p>"Have I done something?"</p>
<p>"No. But...you have been through so much."</p>
<p>"Well," Striga lilts her head, noncommittal, "thankfully, I don't remember most of it."</p>
<p>"That's not the point. It just...it isn't fair."</p>
<p>"Fate is cruel, my lady." Striga shrugs in resignation, though she finds Morana's statement strange. Why should anything be fair? "Besides, I'm sure I've done enough to earn it by now."</p>
<p>Morana scowls, mostly to herself, and her grip tightens on her sister's hand again.</p>
<p>"Though, if your condition has indeed improved, I would like to return to my chambers." Striga feels a need to isolate, to cry, and to sleep where it's familiar lest she fail to sleep at all.</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana doesn't resist, doesn't try to argue because she knows there is no way she could do anything except spit the naked truth at her. </span>
  <em>Stay so I might comfort you, that I might love you like you deserve. By god, let me try to make a home for you at my side. </em>
  <em>
    <b>Please</b>
  </em>
  <span>. So she simply rises from her comfortable refuge and reluctantly releases Striga's hand. She hates to watch Striga go, but puts on a brave, grateful face all the same.</span>
</p>
<p>"Thank you for your time, sister."</p>
<p>"You're quite welcome, my lady." Striga nods and then starts across the room, unaware that Morana still watches as she gathers her things from where she left them on the chaise. "Good morning, and I hope you sleep well."</p>
<p>"Same to you." Morana holds her breath until her apartment door opens and closes, then she lets it out in one punctuated push.</p>
<p>For what feels like forever Morana will linger awake, her mind buzzing and her heart aching. Something is suddenly so jarringly different now, and she isn't so confident as to the nature of the change. Her mind struggles to decipher it to no avail.</p>
<p>
  <span> When she </span>
  <em>finally</em>
  <span> feels like she can attempt to sleep she rolls over, pressing herself tightly into her pillows to catch the lingering remnants of Striga's scent.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Author's Note:</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> I know I haven't given up ALL of Striga's back story, but I will, when the time is right. I had a lot of reservations about this one, mostly of whether or not I was giving too much -to both the audience and Morana, but I just kept reminding myself that this is romance. It's about ideals and wish fulfillment and indulgence. So a little bit now, but you still have room for dessert, you know? Anyway, next chapter is going to be...something. I'm setting the stage for the conflict as well as -hopefully- something my audience has been curious about before I even really started writing this. Thanks for all the support and the wonderful comments, you folks are great!</span>
  </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter Ten</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Striga's mind is mostly a dull buzzing static as she finishes cleaning up in preparation for dinner with her sisters. It would seem Carmilla is attempting to make these gatherings a weekly endeavor, which she has neither overly positive or negative feelings about. However, if she had a choice, she would rather be doing other things. Particularly dinner with Morana, as it was sure to be more enjoyable and far less draining. Not that she didn't enjoy Lenore and Carmilla's company, just that she seemed to enjoy Morana's </span>
  <em>more</em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> When her thoughts aren't scattered to the aether, Striga mulls over last night. Not so much the hunting, though it crosses her mind nonetheless. Hunting humans is comparable to animals, though she favors animals as they tend to provide the greater challenge. They're certainly </span>
  <em>smarter</em>
  <span>. She laughs to herself, rising up out of the bath to dry off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Her attention, when it's there, is more tightly fixed on the hours following her return to the palace, those spent with Morana. A peculiar curiosity surrounds the thoughts of her now, a scrutiny that hadn't been there before. Striga senses a glaring difference about </span>
  <em>something</em>
  <span>, as to what she isn't quite certain yet. But Morana is at the center of it, whatever it is. Last night had given Striga an opportunity to see the sort of person Morana is. Not the tactician or the right hand of a queen or even the master of assassins, but the woman and all her complexities and vulnerabilities. It had wiped away some of the dazzling veneer of her position and revealed someone that was surprisingly human -and so </span>
  <em>soft</em>
  <span> looking. A softness that beckons to be touched like silk, that demands it's tenderness be experienced. Now all Striga can think about is Morana's hair and has all but forgotten about getting dressed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> That thought of her tumbles into another, into another, and then there are words, echoes of Morana's voice that Striga never meant to hold on to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"My hero..."</em>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Striga had been called </span>
  <em>many</em>
  <span> things throughout her life, </span>
  <em>hero</em>
  <span> had never been one of them. It had been a pleasant surprise to hear, truth be told, though she doesn't really feel deserving of it. She was simply doing her duty.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>She admitted to missing you.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Something else Striga feels she has never been is missed. As a soldier, it is a rare moment indeed that anyone is glad to see you, doubly so for a vampire, and even more less likely that anyone thinks twice once you've gone -usually because anyone who could was dead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Still, again, this hadn't been an entirely unpleasant thing to hear. Striga even smiles to herself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>We're friends now, so it makes sense. Welsh and I have missed one another before, though we show it differently. </em>
  <em>
    <b>Very differently</b>
  </em>
  <em>. Yes, my lady does love to talk, so it's only natural for her to say so.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> My lady...</em>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Thinking that shouldn't feel like this, she realizes. Not that it is a </span>
  <em>wrong</em>
  <span> feeling, just...different. In truth, Striga can't think of a name for it. Hah, to think something could be new to a vampire?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> She chuckles to herself, dispelling her distractions and finally setting about getting dressed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>---</p>
<p>Things change, and fate sometimes turns in an unexpected way, demanding a new approach. An altered strategy. Morana feels this, senses it like an impending storm, and makes time to reevaluate a number of things. Last night had been such a twist of fate -not so much in the sense of a predetermined conclusion, but as a revelation- and she rose just after sundown to a fresh, albeit different perspective.</p>
<p>Her heart is in it now, she believes. This endeavor is no longer filled with the mystery of what lies beyond wanton infatuation; the mystery has been solved and she found an incredible fondness that is no longer rooted in lust, but <em>pain</em><span>. Striga's pain had touched her heart, because it is a pain Morana is familiar with in a way, that of isolation. Her heart yielded and made room that she might choose to carry whatever portion of it the good general would offer, and what Striga had given her would never be enough. Not until the pain is gone for good and Morana's heart is full of everything Striga is. Provided she would give so much.</span></p>
<p>Now, Morana wants nothing more than to soothe her, to give up everything for her comfort, and to -as she vividly recalls thinking the previous evening- make a home for Striga at her side. She even dangles the idea that perhaps it wouldn't matter if her love was ever returned.</p>
<p>
  <em>Love...love? Yes...I love her.</em>
</p>
<p>Acknowledging the thought makes her ribs clench, her heart lurch, but it is no less true. True. Daunting. Wonderful. And terrible in its own way. Yes, love is beautiful, divine even, and you give of yourself. You give until there is nothing left with no thought of the cost so long as the one you love is content. But to what vast, catastrophic reaches would or could a vampire aspire to in order to please their love? Just how much could she give? What could one immortal possibly offer to sate the wants and wishes of another?</p>
<p>That, Morana realizes, is the task at hand now. So much of her focus has been on setting up the board, trying to anticipate and outmaneuver, when she should have simply waited, watched, and learned what she was meant to see. And what little she has seen so far has left her humbled, but with no less longing than before. If anything, her sense of yearning has doubled, split unevenly between a desire to have Striga and to be the source of her happiness.</p>
<p>
  <em>Must I choose? Could I not have both?</em>
</p>
<p>Perhaps. It remains to be seen, but she makes a conscious effort to accept the possibility all the same. <em>Plan for the worst and hope for the best, I suppose.</em></p>
<p>Morana makes time to start in on the newly delivered post, which is rather sizable, going through the myriad of missives and letters and sorting them by recipient. There was one for Striga, and Morana sets it aside, meaning to give it to her after dinner. Speaking of which, she needed to be on...</p>
<p>She pauses for a moment, her eyes lingering on the <em>shatranj</em> board. There's a move she can make, and it <em>is</em> her turn.... It is certainly bold, but unlikely to grant her any real progress, yet it could still yield something of use. She gingerly picks up an adviser and decisively moves it along its diagonal path to its intended place. Now she could only wait and see how Striga would respond.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When Morana reaches the council chamber, Lenore and Carmilla are already seated and nursing glasses of wine. She greets them in turn and takes her seat, eying the pitcher of wine briefly before deciding it best that she still abstain.</p>
<p>"How are you this evening, Morana?" Carmilla asks, sounding genuine. "Lenore was just telling me you had a difficult night last night."</p>
<p>"I'm quite all right, thank you." Morana assures her.</p>
<p>"Excellent." Carmilla nods once. "I don't suppose the courier has arrived yet?"</p>
<p>"They have." Morana fixes herself a glass of blood and settles back in her seat. "I was just able to sort it before coming here, but I couldn't tell you what all of it is off the top of my head. Expecting anything in particular?"</p>
<p>"Just word back from the duke and archbishop."</p>
<p>"Should there be any, I'll be sure to bring it to you tonight."</p>
<p>"So did you and the general get to continue your game?" Lenore asks, sounding only a little suggestive. "I know the hunting party returned to the palace rather early,"</p>
<p>"Oh god, you've corralled her into that atrocious game? No wonder you've been spending so much of your time together." Carmilla decidedly <em>hates</em> <em>shatranj</em>. "To think I had started to worry,"</p>
<p>Morana makes a face, a weird mixture of puzzlement and offense. "Worry about <em>what</em>?"</p>
<p>"I've heard how you and the general <em>regularly</em> disappear together, I couldn't help but consider the most logical conclusion."</p>
<p>"<em>Logical</em>?" Morana balks. "Surely you have a higher opinion of me,"</p>
<p>"I have the <em>highest</em> opinion of you, sister, you know that. Besides, there is no slut shaming in this room, after all."</p>
<p>"Yes, but you remember you thought the same when Morana first brought in Taubert," Lenore chimes in. "You were wrong <em>then</em> too."</p>
<p>"And how the hell was I supposed to know that Taubert simply doesn't <em>have</em> those sorts of feelings? I may be queen, but I'm certainly no mind-reader."</p>
<p>"And it's a shame, because it would likely save you a great amount of trouble." Morana sighs, sounding like a hiss. "But rest assured, I am not having an affair with General Striga."</p>
<p>Carmilla seems to accept that, albeit begrudgingly, and sips her wine. Then she grins. "Have you thought about it?"</p>
<p>Morana side-eyes her, gaze razor sharp. She can sense Lenore's apprehension from across the table.</p>
<p>"Not that I would be against it, of course." Carmilla adds abruptly, perhaps feeling Morana's pointed disapproval and meaning to mediate it. "If anything, I would commend you for going above and beyond to foster such a strong relationship with her. Could you imagine it? You might be able to convince her to topple an entire kingdom in exchange for a kiss,"</p>
<p>Morana straightens in her seat, her face tightening with the makings of a scowl as she turns to look at Carmilla squarely. "I find your suggestion wholly insulting, Carmilla. Even if I <em>could</em> find it in myself to stoop so low as to withhold my affection like currency <em>from anyone</em>, surely the general is <em>far</em> above being used in such a way. She is your left hand, true, but she is more than a tool -as we <em>all</em> are."</p>
<p>Carmilla blinks, momentarily speechless.</p>
<p>"Morana, surely Carmilla meant it in harmless jest," Lenore tests gently, <em>so</em> gently, because she feels the static crackling in the room. All of it coming from the one sister across from her.</p>
<p>"Yet no one laughs." Morana answers evenly, her eyes not breaking from Carmilla's, holding the queen's gaze like a python holds a rat -unyielding and lethal.</p>
<p>Carmilla had to have felt this, <em>had</em> to, and recognized Morana's intent very well. She eventually withdraws. "I didn't realize you were so serious about it."</p>
<p>"That is <em>not</em> an apology." which is what Morana is expecting.</p>
<p>Carmilla concedes in her own way, lounging back in her chair and crossing her legs, looking indignant but in a soft way. "It was never my intention to affront your character or the general's, though I realize that I have and cry your pardon."</p>
<p>"Thank you." Morana knows it's the best she's likely to get, and chooses not to press the matter further. To Carmilla, anything resembling "sorry" was a four letter word.</p>
<p>"...But you have to admit that I had <em>some</em> ground to be suspicious. I know how you are,"</p>
<p>"Just how am I, then?" Morana shows a little fang, daring.</p>
<p>"For god's sake, Carmilla," Lenore tries, quickly realizing that she is entirely unheard.</p>
<p>"When was the last time you were in a relationship, Morana? Honestly? Not since you came to Styria,"</p>
<p>"Regardless," Morana counters, her jaw tight and her talons whining against her glass. "As long as it has been, I am <em>still</em> a <em>professional</em>, and I am better than to allow my discipline to slip simply at the sight of <em>any</em> woman I come across."</p>
<p>"This isn't going to come to blows, is it?"</p>
<p>Morana's choler is snuffed out like a candle, vanishing into thin air as her head whips away from Carmilla. She cannot think of a word to describe how she feels to see Striga taking her seat, eyes on her and set in curious amusement, only that it makes her heart wrench behind her ribs. Morana can't speak, though her mouth opens in an attempt and stays that way even as Striga only stares at her as if waiting for whatever it is she's trying to say. But nothing emerges in the end, Morana's mind wholly paralyzed by the tangle of frantic thoughts that it is trying to have all at the same time.</p>
<p>"Did you catch all that, general?" Carmilla asks, seeming to be smiling in spite of herself.</p>
<p>"Mostly, I believe. I heard the Lady Morana ever so kindly defending my good name as well as her own. I also heard your attempt at an apology, Carmilla, if you could call it that." Yes, Striga's hearing is quite acute, and if she had to describe it in words it would be piss poor. "Though I cannot help but feel that she shouldn't have had to say anything. Unless, of course, you were calling her decorum into question simply for your own amusement." And there is no suggestion in her tone, just her usual, neutrally observational delivery.</p>
<p>Carmilla scowls, her chin tucked like she's sulking. "I apologized, what more do you want?"</p>
<p>"Please excuse me."</p>
<p>Everything seems to stop and center on Morana as she abruptly rises from her seat and promptly sees herself out of the council chamber without another word. The three remaining sisters watched her leave, staring as the door opened and shut, then came back to each other to exchange mostly confused looks. Mostly, save for Lenore, who appears clearly distressed.</p>
<p>"Was it something I said?" Striga asks, thinking it had to be something she had done. Everything had been going smoothly -in a way- until she arrived. "Did I overstep?"</p>
<p>"It's more so what Morana said." Lenore explains. "I'm afraid Morana likely feels that she unintentionally outed herself to you."</p>
<p>Striga's brow thickens, her confusion only seeming to grow. "I...don't understand."</p>
<p>"Well, if you did indeed hear her exchange with Carmilla,"</p>
<p>"You mean the accusation that she was sleeping with me? What of it?"</p>
<p>"Oh," Lenore blinks, "so you know she's a lover of women?"</p>
<p>"...Not in so many words, no, though I was suspicious, but what difference does it make? Should I be upset about something?"</p>
<p>"Well, no, just," Lenore had a number of preconceptions about how this particular conversation would go, provided she was present, and this was certainly not one of them.</p>
<p>"It isn't something she readily shares, not with anyone." Carmilla says. "We all have our secrets, so you can imagine how upset she may be."</p>
<p>"I do." Striga nods once, pauses, then nods again with a little more intent. "I should speak to her."</p>
<p>"Don't you think she might want some time to collect herself?" Lenore suggests.</p>
<p>"If the Lady Morana is like some of the other women I have met in my life, she is feeling uncertain and, in no small way, afraid, and no one should have to sit with that long. Though the advice is appreciated, if she wishes for solitude, I shall let her say so." Striga stands up from her chair and excuses herself.</p>
<p>Now Carmilla and Lenore are alone with each other and the lingering heaviness that Lenore can still sense hanging in the air. For a moment Lenore glares at her sister, side-eyed and with obvious disapproval in her crimson gaze that Carmilla refuses to meet directly.</p>
<p>"You understand why Morana was upset?"</p>
<p>"I do." Carmilla exhales.</p>
<p>"And you <em>do</em> intend to give Morana a proper apology, don't you?"</p>
<p>Carmilla simply sulks a little harder, clearly not proud of what has unfolded but refusing to telegraph it any other way. "Of course I do. I don't need a lecture."</p>
<p>"No, but you need to held accountable. We're supposed to be working together, and you suggesting to exploit one of us by way of another isn't very conducive to the idea. And <em>Morana</em>, of all people,"</p>
<p>Carmilla flinches, but it's barely there, a gesture only another vampire could see, which Lenore certainly does. "Yes, <em>mother</em>, I hear you."</p>
<p>"Good."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>---</p>
<p>Morana had felt the need to escape, to all but vanish, so she did the best she could without leaving the palace altogether. And yet, though the platform of the castle's tallest tower is as far from the world as she can be, she still feels trapped. She paces the platform, seemingly unable to find a place where she feels she belongs, arms crossed and tight across her chest in an attempt to ground herself. Her heart is jerking behind her ribs, its echoes in her ears nearly deafening.</p>
<p><em>That should </em>not<em> have happened.</em></p>
<p>It keeps repeating in her mind, a feverish chant that, no matter how many times it cycles, doesn't make her predicament any less real or present. But it <em>shouldn't</em> have happened! Morana had <em>plans</em>, god damn it, and <em>that</em> was <em>not</em> part of the plan! Morana presses her fists against her temples, resisting the urge to scream that shakes her frame.</p>
<p><em>Now she knows. Striga </em>knows<em>. What will she think of me now? Is everything ruined? Will the council collapse or...no, no, that's ridiculous. But is it? Surely she is above abandoning her position, but...what about our friendship? What about us?</em></p>
<p>Morana pulls her hands down her face, not a thought to spare at all for possibly smearing her cosmetics. She forces herself to take a breath, slow and deep, filling her lungs to needless capacity before steadily deflating. Her mind is still buzzing, but her heart is starting to steady -not <em>slow</em>, of course- and that is helping. She wrangles her own focus to heel, consciously choosing a place to occupy like she owns it; it's something she can exert her will over, something that she desperately needs. Morana moves into the archway with the thickest clusters of ivy, looking down into the main courtyard before easing down to sit on the edge of the platform. The wind whistles and tugs at her, making her reflexively pull her shawl a little tighter.</p>
<p>She looks out over the valley, beyond the snowy peaks and even beyond the clusters of stars, thinking <em>what am I to do</em>?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Following Morana had been as simple as listening, Striga able to pick up the quick cadence of heeled shoes when she left the council chamber, but she didn't rush after her sister. She took her pursuit at little more than a stroll, having realized that Lenore's advice did carry reasonable weight, especially when Striga took note of the frantic pulse that she could make out between Morana's swift steps. Morana was clearly distressed, so chasing her down is <em>not</em> a viable option. With that being the case, Striga only keeps pace enough so as not to lose the trail. It takes her to a corridor she recognizes, to a familiar, upward winding staircase that she takes at a leisurely rate, albeit quietly. Once the echo of Morana's steps has diminished, all Striga can make out is the uneven surges of her heart. Nearing the apex, she can still hear it and how it hasn't changed, so Striga lingers in the stairwell, going so far as to sit on the step and wait until that frantic pulse eased. Revealing her presence would likely be more favorable once Morana had a moment to calm down.</p>
<p>When that time comes and it sounds as though Morana's harried pacing has stopped, Striga carefully stands up and ascends the remaining stairs, pausing only a few seconds to see just what awaits her at the summit. Her gaze lingers between Morana's shoulders, on the styled waves of her hair, keeping her attention tightly enough that she won't remember the last few steps she takes to reach the landing. Striga gently clears her throat, and part of her is hurt with the look Morana gives her in return when she whips her head around. She's terrified.</p>
<p>"Would you prefer to be alone?" Striga asks gently. No use in dancing around the matter.</p>
<p>Morana is already looking away from her again, hiding the agonized tightness in her face. She wants to say yes, because it is the truth though only in part, but her stronger sensibilities thinks it's just as good a time as any to face her fear and be done with it. Putting it off won't change anything. What will be, will be, never mind time.</p>
<p>"Stay, if it pleases you."</p>
<p>"But this isn't about me."</p>
<p>"Oh, but it is." Morana chuckles in spite of herself, making it a pitiful sound. "Come and sit."</p>
<p>Striga doesn't argue, silently fulfilling the lady's request and making her way into the archway. She props herself against the base of the arch across from Morana, facing her and letting one leg dangle and leisurely swing over the side of the platform. Wearing trousers makes her feel comfortable enough to draw the other leg up, propping her forearm against it so that her arm can rest comfortably in her lap and she can easily spin her ring. She tries not to stare at Morana, partly because she doesn't want her sister to feel pressured to speak, and partly because the hard, pained creases in her expression are difficult to look at.</p>
<p>"I had meant to tell you." Morana says at last, and it sounds like the words had to drag themselves out into the open.</p>
<p>"Why?" Striga's brows rise. "Had I done something to suggest I was entitled to that? If so, you have my deepest apologies."</p>
<p>"It was for the sake of transparency, mostly." and it's the truth. To trust someone is to feel as though you can be something resembling your truest self with them, at least that is what she believes. Just as she believed that she and Striga might have been on the verge of reaching such a point. But then... "Knowing each other is part of friendship, of building trust."</p>
<p>"But should being known be so frightening? Because I can sense that you are." Striga has cocked her head to the side, like she's trying to catch Morana's eyes though her gaze seems permanently fixed to the ground below them. "I do not want that you should be afraid of me, Morana." Because she has seen too much fear in her long life, far too much, all of it directed at her mere existence. She isn't sure she could bear it from her sisters, even for a moment.</p>
<p>What soft words, Morana thinks. Such soft words in such a soft voice, it beckons her to feel comfortable again, but ultimately fails.</p>
<p>"Do you believe I would try to harm you over such a secret?"</p>
<p>"If so, you wouldn't be the first...well, you'd be the first <em>woman</em>."</p>
<p>Striga scowls; the idea of anyone wishing to harm another over such a thing is disgusting, and the thought of such behavior befalling Morana...safe to say, Striga prays they are long since dead and that the occurrence had been <em>most</em> unpleasant.</p>
<p>"My only displeasure in the news is that I had not yet garnered the trust you needed in order to volunteer the information on your own terms, if that was indeed your intention." She watches Morana nod, hoping that meant that she believed her. "But, regardless of my feelings, I give you my word that I would <em>never</em> raise a hand to you. Not for <em>any</em> reason."</p>
<p>"Good to know." as it is more soft words in a soft voice that coax her towards consolation. Words that, in one way or another, she had hoped to hear. "But there are other things I am concerned with. Not just that."</p>
<p>"Such as?"</p>
<p>"How it might affect our work, the council as a whole...other things. You heard Carmilla."</p>
<p>Striga chances a smirk. "Weren't you the one that wasn't worried about rumors?"</p>
<p>"This is hardly the same thing."</p>
<p>"Hmm, perhaps," though she isn't entirely certain how. "Suppose Carmilla thinks I'm your type?"</p>
<p>If she still needed to breathe, Morana believes she would have found a way to choke at that statement somehow. "Do you think this some sort of joke?" She snaps instead.</p>
<p>"Certainly not." she answers plainly.</p>
<p>"Then why would you pose such a question?"</p>
<p>"Because I'm curious? Why do you seem so angry with me, what have I done?"</p>
<p>Morana finally looks at her, lips tight and eyes severe as she takes in Striga's obvious and genuine puzzlement.</p>
<p><em>I am angry because she both does and </em>doesn't<em> know. But I could tell her, couldn't I? Wouldn't it be better to just let every cat spill out of the bag at this point?</em></p>
<p>Morana takes a deep breath, reining herself in as her hands curl into fists atop her lap. "My apologies. You have done nothing wrong, in fact you have been perfectly honorable through all this, yet here I am snapping my teeth at you. I cry your pardon."</p>
<p>"And you have it." Striga nods. "You remember that you are not the first of your sort I've ever encountered."</p>
<p>"Lesbian."</p>
<p>"Pardon?"</p>
<p>"That's the word for women like me, it comes from the Isle of Lesbos, Sappho's birthplace."</p>
<p>"Ah, the poet, yes. I see." she's nodding again, but then suddenly stops. "<em>Oh</em>." Realization stretches her features. "Is <em>that</em> what Lenore meant? She said you were an authority on her work,"</p>
<p>Morana sighs and smiles, giving Striga a look that is a mixture of heartbreak and mild amusement. "Though I'm surprised you're unfamiliar with the word, seeing as you've known Commander Welsh for so long."</p>
<p>"But she is not a lesbian."</p>
<p>"Oh?"</p>
<p>"No. She is -oh, how did she put it," Striga thinks for a moment, and when it comes to her, she throws on her best reproduction of Welsh's accent, "'So I chase trousers as well as skirts, what of it? Got a problem with it, you can get fucked!'"</p>
<p>Morana can't stop the burst of laughter, but she's quick to cover her mouth with one hand. "My god, did she say that to <em>you</em>?"</p>
<p>"She did. She tried to apologize for it later, at least, for her delivery of it." Striga smiles, not just from reminiscing, but from hearing the good lady laugh. "In any case, she is partial to both men <em>and </em>women. She even had a husband once, a family."</p>
<p>"I see. Now I simply <em>must</em> meet her." Morana manages to work out the last of her giggles, realizing after they have dissipated just how much lighter she feels now. She casts Striga the softest look she can muster. "Thank you."</p>
<p>"Hm? For what?"</p>
<p>"For this." <em>Your time, your attention, your existence...</em></p>
<p>Striga lilts her head and inches her shoulders, like it's nothing. "What are sisters for?"</p>
<p>"Accusing you of illicit affairs, for one thing."</p>
<p>Striga chances a grin, thinking the matter isn't so sensitive now. "Does Carmilla always do that?"</p>
<p>"More often than not, unfortunately. Then again, there haven't been many instances,"</p>
<p>"Is there any truth to it?"</p>
<p>"...Yes and no. I'm afraid," she hesitates, deciding to go along with it anyway, "I've been terribly lonely, and coming to Styria has not improved my situation. So...one is of the mind to take the opportunities presented to them on the chance that there might not be another."</p>
<p>Striga stares, eyes set curiously for a moment. "...Not Carmilla,"</p>
<p>"It was graciously brief but not without it's dramatics. It had been a...trying time for both of us, we were one another's comfort, but in the end she doesn't have the same feelings towards women that I do. However she is still one of my dearest friends and I will stand beside her until the end."</p>
<p>Striga simply nods, feeling like she had no place to say anything on the matter. Though, by the same token, she feels she might be out of place to ask about these things in the first place. But Morana was electing to answer...</p>
<p>"And Lenore was strictly out of the question." Morana says before Striga can ask. "Even if I could forgive her entire personality, that body is far too young looking for my comfort."</p>
<p>"Understandable," especially now that she hears it aloud, it is perfect reasoning. "Still, all you seem to be doing now is validating Carmilla's suspicion that you have mounted an attack on my virtue. However little there may be."</p>
<p>"But I <em>haven't</em>!" Morana laughs in spite of herself, anything to cover up the embarrassment lancing through her. "I am a <em>lady</em>, damn it!"</p>
<p>"Yes, you are a lady, and a fine one," Striga assures her, "so why worry yourself with Carmilla's nonsense?"</p>
<p>Morana growls and scowls, mostly to herself. "Because I am also <em>proud</em>."</p>
<p>"Aren't we all." Striga chuckles.</p>
<p>"Aren't <em>you</em> upset? She was accusing you of just as much."</p>
<p>"So? It isn't true...unless I've been missing something,"</p>
<p>Morana feels the distinct need to scream again, this time for wholly different reasons. She really could just divulge everything right this instant, be done with it all in one way or another, the burden of this other secret finally shrugged off. As tempting as it is, Morana cannot shake the fear, the knee-jerk refusal to do the equivalent of sitting her <em>shah</em> in the middle of the fucking board.</p>
<p>But...wouldn't it be better? Instead of allowing the game to needlessly drag on...just end it?</p>
<p><em>God </em><em><b>damn </b></em><em>this unbeating heart.</em> "...I did not wish for my attempts at friendship to be viewed as disingenuous."</p>
<p>Morana knows she needs to look at her, to meet whatever reaction Striga has, but it feels impossible. It's a feeling that only worsens as the seconds tick by without any verbal response, and in the end Morana realizes that to look and acknowledge this new reality is her only option. She had made her move, now she needed to accept the impact of it.</p>
<p>Her view of the world collapses around Striga, as it has already done so many times, and all Morana can process is the obvious surprise in those piercing green eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Author's Note:</span>
  <span> This chapter was absolutely not what I was expecting it to be, but it be like that some times. I only have so much control. That first half felt a little janky, but it is what it is. Next chapter, well, frankly we'll just have to wait and see, but it's bound to be something. Thanks to everyone for their support and for all the wonderful comments, it's been wonderful.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter Eleven</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Time drags, stretching at an impossibly languid rate as the two of them look at one another, gazes mutually unyielding. They're both searching for something; Morana is looking for anything resembling a reaction, while Striga is simply using Morana to focus until her mind tries to fully comprehend what she just heard. Yes, she certainly understood, but she feels that there is so much more hidden under the words, something she senses but just doesn't see.</p>
<p>After what seems like a short eternity, Striga asks "Why would I think you weren't being honest? You have been nothing if not true to your word, and I took it as such."</p>
<p>"Not <em>once</em> did you consider that I was being flirtatious?"</p>
<p>"You had never claimed to be, so why would I?"</p>
<p>Morana blinks at her, speechless with a sensation that she simply cannot name. There is no name for it because it isn't <em>one</em> feeling, but a tangle of them, and they are altogether <em>awful</em>. "...I don't understand."</p>
<p>"The only one of us speaking in riddles is you, Morana. I'm saying exactly as I mean. You gave no indication that your intentions were anything other than what they appeared, so that is how I understood them."</p>
<p>Morana's bottom lip tucks tightly between her teeth to stop herself from speaking, knowing what she meant to say would erupt in frustration and with a razor's edge, and that is <em>not</em> how she plans to be heard in regards to this. She still feels the need to scream, this time at Striga, as she simply cannot understand how she could not have seen or sensed any of her intentions other than what Morana had allowed her to see.</p>
<p>But Striga must have sensed <em>something</em>, as her face turns firm with her brows low over her eyes. "Speak, sister, tell me the truth." Striga's voice has now hardened slightly, but it's more than enough to suggest her intent. "Or cast away this anger you seem to have towards me."</p>
<p>"I am not angry with you." Morana insists, jaw tight and teeth stuck together. She sounds like she is trying to convince herself as well.</p>
<p>"I sense otherwise."</p>
<p>"Oh, so <em>this</em> you can sense well enough?" Morana quips bitterly.</p>
<p>"Because you make it so obvious." Striga bites back. "Forgive me for being too stupid to catch on to your fucking <em>word games</em>."</p>
<p>Morana looks at her squarely. "Do <em>not</em> put words in my mouth, never have I <em>ever</em> called your intelligence into question!"</p>
<p>"So which is it then? Am I to assume what you mean or should I expect you to say it plainly...what are you trying to hide?"</p>
<p>She doesn't know if she will regret this later, if this is the best move to make, but at the moment, Morana is much too heated to care. "<em>I have feelings for you</em>."</p>
<p>Striga's back straightens and her expression stretches in shock.</p>
<p><em>There. It's done. It's finally out in the open.</em> And for an instant, Morana feels release and elation, but that all comes crashing down into something heart wrenching when she fully realizes exactly what she has done. She looks away from Striga, her eyes fixed on the courtyard below once more. Uncertainty lines her face, and she doesn't know what else to do other than wait.</p>
<p>Striga is still staring at her, but now it's as if she is seeing an entirely different person. She is beginning to reexamine...well, everything. "So all this, my council appointment...was an attempt to <em>woo me</em>?"</p>
<p>"Not the council seat, no." Morana answers quickly, sounding uncomfortable. In all honesty, she knew the questions would come, but that didn't make her hate them any less. "And...I <em>truly</em> wish for us to be friends, to form a genuine trust, but...well...as I said."</p>
<p>Striga nods, though she looks no less surprised. "...Why?"</p>
<p>"W-why?! What do you mean <em>why</em>?!" Morana sputters, flabbergasted, looking at Striga again.</p>
<p>"Why do you have feelings for me?"</p>
<p>"Have you <em>seen</em> yourself?!"</p>
<p>Now Striga's brows flatten over her eyes. "No, perhaps I should find a mirror?"</p>
<p>Blood rushes into Morana's face, the concentration great enough to show in her cheeks and darken them. "Oh, <em>you...</em> <em> <b>you</b> </em> ! <em>You are </em> <em> <b>impossible</b> </em>!"</p>
<p>"And <em>you</em> are allowing your frustration to get the better of you." she counters, still level-toned, though that edge on her voice has hardened a bit more. "All I have requested is that you speak plainly, nothing more, and now you certainly <em>are</em> angry with me when you answer my question with another question and I respond in kind. What do you want me to do?" and now Striga sounds like she is on the verge of begging.</p>
<p>"I want you to <em>understand</em>," Morana groans, like it's a lamentation.</p>
<p>"Then <em>say</em> what you <em>mean</em>." She reiterates, hoping it is the last time she needs to. Meaning for it to be the last time. "I am not another courtier that you have to dress your words up for, Morana."</p>
<p>There's her name again, the only softness that has been exchanged between them in the last few moments. Morana still wants to scream, thinks it would be powerful enough to expel her very heart from her body as it <em>pounds</em> painfully behind her ribs. There is just <em>so much</em> , and none of it felt right...because it was not how she <em>planned</em> it. By god, what a disaster she had made of all this.</p>
<p>Striga watches her and sees she is struggling. Part of her hates it, especially since that same part feels responsible for Morana's distress. She never wanted to add to her sister's misery, certainly not in her attempts to alleviate it. Perhaps...Striga had been a little thoughtless with her jab about the mirror, and maybe she could have made an effort to be less coy, but...nothing is real to Striga unless it is said or done; <em>I have feelings for you</em> , to Striga, could mean literally anything, and Morana had done <em>everything </em>other than explain herself. Innuendo has always been just that -a concept- until it materializes, and until then, could not be trusted.</p>
<p>But it is <em>Morana</em> , and Striga <em>wants</em> to trust her.</p>
<p>After the silence stretches far enough, Striga takes a soft, but filling breath, and exhales. She stops spinning her ring and leans forward, pushing herself up until she can push herself forward. Her one leg joins the other over the edge, the heels of her boots knocking against the stone facade of the tower as she inches up next to Morana, though not too closely. "Might I take your hand?" she asks after a moment.</p>
<p>Morana doesn't speak, doesn't look at her, but reaches out. She doesn't expect the way Striga holds it, letting Morana's hand rest atop the meaty forearm between them before Striga smooths the other hand over hers. It's secure, intimate, intentional, and Morana wants to lose herself in its comfort.</p>
<p>Striga can feel Morana's pulse, it's in her wrist, her fingertips, and it serves to soften her. "No more jokes, no more questions for questions. Speak, and I will listen."</p>
<p>"It's so difficult." Morana whimpers, the anger seeming to have morphed into a form of despair. "I have kept it secret for <em>so long</em>, and I am afraid."</p>
<p>"Afraid of what?"</p>
<p>"Of ruining everything. Carmilla, all of Styria, will come to rely on us. One misstep and it could collapse."</p>
<p>"Because you have feelings?"</p>
<p>Morana chuffs, smirks in spite of herself. "Look at the great empires of old, all toppled by mens' <em>feelings.</em> And I cannot think of a single war that wasn't started by such, one way or another."</p>
<p>"...I do not know enough history to refute the idea, but I <em>do</em> know men, so I will take your word for it."</p>
<p>That smirk becomes a smile, though Morana still hides it, keeping all her attention on the ground below them. She unconsciously curls her fingers around Striga's forearm, feels the strength in it through cool skin and soft hair though the musculature is relaxed.</p>
<p>"What is it you want, Morana? Truly?"</p>
<p>Her grip on Striga's arms tightens a little more, the edges of her talons pressing. "I shouldn't dictate that to you. It doesn't seem right."</p>
<p>"Would you rather I guess?"</p>
<p>"...Point taken."</p>
<p>"Still, I merely wish to know, that we might have equal understanding. Don't think you are coercing me, I'm a big girl and can think for myself."</p>
<p>"You certainly are <em>big</em>,"</p>
<p>"I thought we agreed no more jokes?" But Striga is smiling, and she holds it until Morana sees it.</p>
<p>"One for one." she lilts her head and inches her shoulders. "But, at the crux of the matter...I have longed for a companion, someone I could conceivably spend eternity with. I'm sure it seems that I already have everything, but...I dare to feel that it isn't enough. There is still an emptiness that I cannot fill, and it tears at me, even infuriates me because I cannot satisfy this need on my own."</p>
<p>Striga nods, hums. "Needing another is difficult."</p>
<p>"It <em>is</em>." Morana grumbles, her face dropping into her free hand. "Difficult. Sometimes terrifying. I don't suppose you've felt this way before?"</p>
<p>"If I have, I don't remember. Mind you, I have felt loneliness, but I think I've grown accustomed to it, what with a soldier's life and all. As for wanting a companion, at least in the context you are suggesting...I have never felt drawn to anyone before. Not to say that I <em>cannot</em>, but I have yet to feel desire for someone as you seem to. No one has been close enough to me to warrant it."</p>
<p>Morana weighs the words for a long while, unsure exactly what to make of them. Initially she wants to feel heartbroken, taking Striga's admission at face value and turning it into something awful, as an anxious mind is wont to do. But she gives herself some time, waits for the knee-jerk reaction to taper off, and examines it a little closer as she continues to grip Striga's forearm.</p>
<p>"Then," Morana pauses, second guessing her words several times in her head, "could I ask for an opportunity to get close enough?"</p>
<p>Striga feels a fresh charge of surprise, her heart clenching briefly and her brow knitting with a certain concern. "You mean you wish to court me? You're serious?"</p>
<p>"I am." No hesitation, but also, no expectations. "Do you not believe me?"</p>
<p>"It's not that. It's just...this has never happened to me before. Not that I know of."</p>
<p>"If it is too discomforting, you may decline. I won't hold it against you." <em>Though it may drive me to seriously consider flinging myself from this platform.</em> "You are still my sister and I will respect your decision."</p>
<p>"I mean," <em>What </em> do <em> I mean?</em> "It's not..." Mercy, where had the words gone? "What would be expected of me, exactly?"</p>
<p>"To be frank, we could continue as we have been; simply spending time together, sharing our interests, our thoughts, much like we are now," Morana chuckles dryly to herself, "but without my hysterics."</p>
<p>"I would not call them hysterics, but I see your meaning." As far as Striga cares, Morana has a great number of feelings, large ones, and after already being keyed up by Carmilla, all that energy had to manifest somehow. In any case, going by how she had described it, courtship didn't sound like the worst trouble Striga could get pulled into.</p>
<p>"I might request that you hold me more often." Morana adds with a suggestive lilt in her voice, like an audible smile. "In the end...it would depend on what becomes of it all. There's a chance that there will be nothing between us."</p>
<p>"As is true with any pursuit of another, I would imagine." Striga nods. "However,"</p>
<p>Morana finally manages to pull her eyes up and look at her sister, quietly eager and bracing for what she has to say.</p>
<p>"I must admit that I am <em>curious</em> , if nothing else. And, if it is of any comfort to you, I <em>do</em> find you to be quite beautiful. Not to mention brilliant."</p>
<p>"It <em>is</em> a comfort, actually." she laughs again, this time sounding much less sardonic. "So? What do you say?"</p>
<p>"I don't wish to cause you any harm," Striga blurts out.</p>
<p>"Such is the risk we take." Morana casts the softest smile she can, the most sincere, and hopes it is enough to convince Striga of her willingness to follow through. But her eyes are also begging, because Morana <em>needs</em> her answer.</p>
<p>"...Very well." Striga says softly and with a touch of hesitation. She still isn't entirely sure what all this means, but it was worth looking into, especially since Morana is now smiling so brightly. "Though I have a number of questions."</p>
<p>"I'm sure you do, but could they wait? I would like to savor this." Morana's hand flexes around Striga's arm and she slides her free hand over the one the rests atop her own. She wants nothing more than to get lost in all this, the satisfaction and relief. Most of all the relief. "We will make time for questions later, I promise."</p>
<p>"As you wish." Striga just grins, her expression still kinked with hints of uncertainty. "Though, I would imagine that we should return to the council room sooner than that."</p>
<p>"I suppose." Morana sighs, more so groans, audibly displeased at the idea. "And if it is agreeable to you, I would prefer Carmilla not hear of this. Not yet, at least."</p>
<p>"<em>Hmph</em>, and give her the satisfaction of being right after the way she harried you? Not a chance."</p>
<p>Morana smiles, all teeth and satisfaction. <em>Oh, I </em> do <em>love you so.</em> "My chivalrous knight."</p>
<p>"Oh god, pet names already?" Striga rolls her eyes and grumbles, but it doesn't sound nearly as displeased as she likely meant it to. "Please, my lady, I beg you to spare me."</p>
<p>"My grumpy bear."</p>
<p>"<em>No</em>."</p>
<p>"Turtledove?"</p>
<p>"<em>Morana</em>," she cautions through a tight smile.</p>
<p>"Sweetheart?"</p>
<p>"I assure you, I <em>will</em> vomit." and if that were actually true, Morana's laughter would have surely quelled the feeling. It's like a new song, a tune you know you love before you understand why. Though <em>why</em> isn't so important all the time, is it?</p>
<p>"Can you tell that I'm something of a romantic?" Morana looks up at her, fangs and dimples on display.</p>
<p>"A naked nun in mass is less obvious."</p>
<p>"Now <em>that's</em> an image. Mind you, I only have a vague idea how a mass is conducted or what it entails, but I feel confident in assuming that everyone keeps there clothes on for the most part."</p>
<p>"Depends on what god the mass is being held for."</p>
<p>"And which gods would those be?"</p>
<p>Striga side eyes her, sees her suggestive smirk, and returns it. "Something our resident genius doesn't know? Scandalous."</p>
<p>Morana just giggles and leans against Striga, at first lightly, testing, but when Striga doesn't appear to disapprove, she allows her weight to fall upon her powerful shoulder.</p>
<p>Striga thinks the gentle pressure is enjoyable, though she doesn't say so aloud. She realizes that Morana's touch in general, her very presence, has become rather pleasant, though she discovers that just how quickly this has happened to be only marginally unsettling. Is this normal? Well, what is normal to a vampire, much less to anyone? Maybe some folks are special cases...yes, perhaps some souls just feel at home with one another, regardless of time.</p>
<p>"We really should get back." Striga says softly. "Lest they come hunting for us."</p>
<p>"Carmilla won't."</p>
<p>"What of Lenore?"</p>
<p>"...She has been my confidant through all this, so I'm not too concerned. But I don't mean for us to go off and tell her."</p>
<p>"Ah, I see." Though, as unsurprising as it is to learn, it is just another thing Striga feels she will have questions about later. "Still, let us be on."</p>
<p>"Very well." She grumbles and concedes, happy to let Striga help her to her feet. Just as she is happy that Striga doesn't object to her keeping hold of her forearm as they walk together towards the stairwell.</p>
<p>"If I might pose just one question?" Striga asks suddenly.</p>
<p>"Very well, just one."</p>
<p>"Is my lady of the mind for a touch of pettiness?"</p>
<p>Morana thinks a moment, her arm unwinding from Striga's as she is given leave to descend first as there isn't the room to walk side by side in the stairwell. "I could certainly be convinced, provided the circumstances are agreeable."</p>
<p>"You understand my mother tongue, yes?" She waits for Morana to nod. "Do either of our other sisters?"</p>
<p>"No, not that I am aware of." Morana pauses on the step as realization strikes her, and her mouth widens like a wound. "I believe I understand."</p>
<p>"Excellent." And now Striga's grin matches her own.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lenore and Carmilla are still seated at the table when they return to the council chamber, no longer arm in arm, much to Morana's well hidden displeasure. As Morana and Striga take their respective seats, Carmilla does her best to offer a genuine apology, saying aloud that she realized how thoughtless her earlier comments had been. This seemed to appease Morana, as she accepts on the condition that Carmilla refrain from such accusations again.</p>
<p>"<em>Do you truly accept that, my lady</em>?" Striga asks in her Slavic tongue with a knowing smirk, an expression that Morana mirrors.</p>
<p>"<em>I'm afraid I must, no need for unnecessary tension</em> . <em>One of us has to be the bigger woman, I suppose.</em>"</p>
<p>Carmilla's eyes jump from Striga to Morana a few times, her face growing steadily creased with puzzlement.</p>
<p>"<em>Were Carmilla any bigger, our good queen wouldn't be able to get her head through the doorway</em>."</p>
<p>"What is this?" Carmilla's gaze jumps between them again, settling briefly, spitefully, on Morana who giggles behind her hand, and then cuts to Lenore. "Do you know what they're saying?"</p>
<p>Lenore seems to have her full attention on her plate, but also appears to be putting considerable effort into not laughing. "Not a wit, though I imagine it's their business and not ours."</p>
<p>"But-,"</p>
<p>"Come now, Carmilla, hasn't your mouth caused enough trouble for one night?" Lenore chuckles. "And though that isn't out of character for you, <em>do</em> give it a rest."</p>
<p>Carmilla sputters and fumes, but in the end says nothing of merit, and resigns herself to silence for the remainder of the meal. Striga and Morana continue carrying on a conversation of the most mundane things -the letter Striga received, continuing with <em>shatranj</em>, and so on, which seems to only vex Carmilla that much more. And all the while, Lenore just quietly revels in the strange but exhilarating mixture of energy hovering in the room. She isn't entirely sure what she is bearing witness to, but finds a certain entertainment in it just the same.</p>
<p>Carmilla will be the first to leave the table, bidding them all a good evening with as much venom as she can without explicitly telling them to go fuck themselves. They all return the gesture, Morana and Striga finally seeing fit to speak Latin again as if to put just one more thorn in the queen's side. She simply rolls her eyes and gives them the finger before striding out of the room. It's only when they hear the door click shut that the three of them start laughing, albeit not too loudly. Lenore makes sure to thank her sisters for the "delightful amusement" before excusing herself, as it was time for her pets to be fed.</p>
<p>Striga and Morana remain behind but a little longer, saying nothing and, initially, looking everywhere but at each other. Unknowingly, they are both contemplating the change they sense between them. Something they had both felt before, but had only just now realized was a mutual sensation, linking together like an invisible chain or woven thread. When they do look to one another, they meet eyes in unison, strangely story book, and are again having the mutual mental inquiry -<em>can she feel that? Does she see me differently now? What is this?</em> But all they do is smirk at each other and try to rein in the fluttering in their hearts.</p>
<p>Striga will be the first to rise from her seat and suggest they be on. Morana simply agrees with a nod, showing her pleasure with a smile when Striga offers her arm for her to take that they might walk together. This is all starting to feel like a dream, Morana thinks, and a little thought worries that it might be too good to be true. <em>So be it, I'll just enjoy it for now.</em></p>
<p>Striga's feelings are much the same and equally unspoken, though unique in that there is no dream-like quality to the moment. She has never had dreams so kind, so pleasant as this, and she really doesn't understand the concept of <em>too good</em>. So everything is as it appears to be, and what it appears to be is rather delightful.</p>
<p>The silence carries through their leisurely walk back to Morana's apartment, the two content to just be, to feel the energy between them and it's new yet somewhat familiar vibrations.</p>
<p>"We can continue the game after I've had a moment to go through these missives." Morana says as the two enter her chambers, unlatching herself from Striga's arms and heading for her desk.</p>
<p>"You said there is one addressed to me? Does it say who it's from?"</p>
<p>"Not that I recall."</p>
<p>Striga just nods and closes the door, unconsciously following Morana's path across the room, but stopping at the chaise where she usually sits. Her brow knits, thinking who it could be from; it hadn't been another month already, had it? Should she be expecting Welsh's report by now? When Morana passes the letter to her, Striga feels a tiny, anxious charge under she skin when she recognizes the handwriting. She gives a quick nod in gratitude and breaks the wax seal.</p>
<p>As Morana sifts through the various messages, she finds one and promptly opens it, quickly skimming the text. "Looks like Lorenzo will be returning within the week for your fitting. Is there anything," she turns, pauses, "Striga? Is everything all right?" The general is sporting a terrible scowl.</p>
<p>Striga immediately blinks and looks up, her expression smoothing out. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"</p>
<p>"Is it serious?" Morana gestures to the letter with a dip of her chin.</p>
<p>"Just Welsh's report," Striga folds the letter up and sets it beside her on the chaise. "But what else did you say?"</p>
<p>"Lorenzo is coming back for your fitting."</p>
<p>"Ah, yes,"</p>
<p>"And I was going to ask if there is anything I can do to help things go...more smoothly than before."</p>
<p>Striga hums, nods and drops her gaze. "Perhaps, but I will need time to think about it." Because, to be completely honest, this is quite possibly the first time anyone has asked such a question. "Until then, let us play. And I see you have made a move already?"</p>
<p>"I did, seeing as it was my turn." Morana comes over and lounges smoothly on the chaise across from her guest, smirking with interest. "And now it is yours. Also, you are in check."</p>
<p>"Hm? ...So I am." Striga sees Morana's adviser, sees how it is in line to possibly take her <em>shah</em> on the next move. So, naturally, the only real response is to remove the threat, and Striga uses one of her knights and decisively takes the opposing adviser. "Your response, my lady."</p>
<p>The remainder of the night passes quickly for them, too quickly as far as Morana is concerned. The game will end in a stalemate, both sides of the board mostly depleted and leaving neither with a clear opportunity for victory. Morana accepts it gracefully, as it is preferable to another loss. Then again, perhaps a victory wouldn't have been as satisfying, as Striga seemed to be not entirely present. She thinks to ask, but withholds; surely, if it was serious, Striga would speak up.</p>
<p>Striga does her best to hide her eagerness to retire, though it's there. She's feeling over-stimulated and distracted, her mind just too full of things to be able to stomach <em>anyone's</em> company for much longer. She will assure Morana they will meet again tomorrow night, after her training if not sooner, and feels the slightest pang in her chest over the threads of sad resignation in Morana's voice.</p>
<p>
  <em>She really doesn't want me to leave. Is that normal?</em>
</p>
<p>They bid each other good morning and Striga excuses herself.</p>
<p>Striga takes the walk back to her own chambers with no obvious hurry, though a part of her unconsciously feels the need to rush. She contemplates the letter in her hands, worries over it. She hadn't lied earlier when Morana had asked about it -it wasn't what most would call <em>serious</em> - but it hadn't been the entire truth. Perhaps she hadn't been willing to share because it was, for all intents and purposes, Striga's business. Military matters were <em>her</em> responsibility.</p>
<p>When she is back behind closed doors she opens the letter and reads it again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>General,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> I've had a couple scouts come up missing. I don't mean some of your nightwalking fellows, but a pair of <span class="u">my</span> lads. I've no doubt your first thought is deserters, but you know that isn't right. My boys don't just wander off, and I haven't been able to turn up any clues as to where they've gone. Like they just vanished. I'm still looking, going to keep at it until I find something out. Once I do, for better or worse, I'll write again.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Commander Welsh</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She hastily folds it back up and drops it on her desk. Beside where it falls is the coin Morana had given her and she's quick to pluck it up and start rolling it across her knuckles in an effort to focus and think. Striga paces for several minutes, scowling, counting the seconds by the delicate click of the coin against her ring. There's no telling how many passes the trinket makes before she stops, realizing there isn't much to do about the message now. With a grunt of frustration she puts the coin back on the desk and goes about preparing for bed.</p>
<p>Her regard for more serious matters starts to scatter after the lightning glass goes dark and she makes it to the bearskin in front of the dormant fireplace, but that doesn't mean her thoughts have stilled. Striga laughs to herself, a curt puff of air as she pulls her cloak around her and lays on her back. What a strange night it had been.</p>
<p><em>I'm courting someone...a </em> woman <em>...a beautiful, sophisticated genius who probably knows more than I've ever forgotten. What on earth could she possibly see in me? A heathen?</em> She laughs again. <em>Morana is a good woman...at least, as good as our kind can be, I suppose. Surely she doesn't mean me any harm, in any case. I wonder...is she thinking of me? Had she really...since she first saw me, she said...that had to have been </em> decades <em> ago.</em></p>
<p>Striga can only imagine the sort of burden that must have been for Morana, one she bore mostly on her own and in silence. Had she truly been so enamored? <em>Tenacious, she is that, for certain.</em> And just from a glance or two and a chance grab at her backside? Striga's laughing, this time at herself, though she feels confident that courtships had surely begun in stranger ways.</p>
<p>There are so many things to consider, thoughts and doubts to weigh, curiosities, but all that could wait for tomorrow, and Striga is quietly eager to see what the night will bring.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="u"> Author's note: </span> admittedly, this chapter felt a little strange, but I think that's because I hadn't exactly planned for this being the way their courtship began. But I thought this was better, because there are certain romance tropes I mean to avoid and subvert and so on so forth. I had lots of different ideas to how they would get together, and I thought a couple just being frank and open with each other would be, at least for me, a refreshing take. Not to say that their courtship will be smooth sailing, but I all but refuse to let their troubles to be strictly from within. These gals deserve nice things, so I mean to see that they get them. But no great love has ever been without its struggle, which we'll see in the future along with some quality, soft and gay shit. Take care and thanks for all the support!</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter Twelve</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tonight feels different, though there is no explaining exactly how, only that it is a good sort of different.</p>
<p>Striga had slept well, <em>very</em> well, soundly and uninterrupted, and has awoken feeling unusually refreshed. Not to say she always suffered from a certain fatigue, only that there is a noticeable change in the quality of her wakefulness. And shortly after sitting up and yawning, she realizes she had slept a little late. That almost <em>never</em><span> happens, but, somehow, Striga finds more amusement than frustration in it, grinning to herself as she gets up and gets dressed. The smile hangs on her all the while, though she doesn't notice. However, by the time she's presentable, it's too late to follow through with her original intent of visiting Morana; it would have to wait until after her training sessions. The disappointment is minimal, but it lingers in an unexpected way.</span></p>
<p>At least until she reaches the main courtyard, only to find Morana there, seated on the usual wooden stool with the intent to watch. They meet eyes and smile at one another, an unspoken greeting seeming to pass between them until Taubert snatches up Striga's attention. Today's lesson, the captain explains, is in unarmed techniques, so Striga is quick to unstrap her sword from her waist, and looks to Morana with lifted brows in a silent request that she mind the weapon for the time being. Morana is happy to do so, agreeing with a slow nod, intentionally brushing her hands against Striga's when the blade and scabbard and belt are passed into her care.</p>
<p>
  <span> Striga is tall, incredibly fast, and has exceptional reach on Taubert, but that does </span>
  <em>not</em>
  <span> guarantee the general an advantage. Taubert is the resident expert on fisticuffs, has decades of formal training and experience as a teacher, and she is quick to pick up on the fact that Striga seemed to have relied on those aforementioned advantages to get her through most if not all of her past brawls. Striga's swings are wide and powerful, the air whistling around her fist; surely, if they did connect, Taubert would </span>
  <em>feel</em>
  <span> it. But Striga would have to catch her first, which she has noticeable trouble doing throughout the lesson. Once Taubert picked up on the timing, those wide swings left Striga wide open, and she was able to move in and land a handful of solid blows to the ribs and kidneys and still duck out before Striga could try a wayward backhand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana finds it all incredibly entertaining in spite of her dear general getting slapped around like she's nothing more than a simple whipping boy. And Striga handles it with all the usual grace and humility, even after Taubert catches her in the jaw with the audible </span>
  <em>snap</em>
  <span> of knuckles against bone. Morana gasps and covers her mouth, wholly shocked; it must have been a considerable blow, as Striga's head jerks to the side with momentum, forcing her to reflexively wipe at her mouth to check for blood, but finds there is none. But Morana can only relax after Striga meets her gaze and gives her a smirk and a nod, wordless confirmation that she is perfectly all right.</span>
</p>
<p>By the end, Striga has worked up a visible sweat and sports a couple of small but noticeable bruises on her face, with others hidden beneath her shirt. After calling for an attendant to fetch her horse, Striga strides to where Morana waits, her sword in hand.</p>
<p>"Evening, my lady." She greets casually, but smiling, and nodding in gratitude as she takes the sword back and starts to fasten it to her waist.</p>
<p>"Evening. Are you all right?"</p>
<p>"Of course, I've shouldered worse than this."</p>
<p>"So I have heard." Morana's smile is uneven, caught between maintaining her usually unshakable airs and the displeasure at the blemishes on Striga's face. "You held your own well, though."</p>
<p>"Glad one of us thought so." Striga chuckles. "Taubert is surprisingly strong."</p>
<p>"One of the reasons I recruited her, among others."</p>
<p>"Hmm. Although, admittedly, I may have been a touch...distracted."</p>
<p>"Oh," Morana's expression stretches, "is it because of me? Forgive me, I didn't know."</p>
<p>"No, no, not entirely. I don't mind your presence," she actually liked the idea of having an audience. Everyone was entitled to a touch of vanity, no? "It's...something else." and she pauses there, because she doesn't quite have the words for it, and then doubles back. "Do you mean to join me on the range?"</p>
<p>"If it would not interfere with your work, then yes."</p>
<p>"Excellent. Would you prefer to ride down, or is the walk agreeable?"</p>
<p>"Walking is most agreeable, though I would happily ride back."</p>
<p>"Very well." and they smirk at each other.</p>
<p>Striga will situate herself to the middle, the horse on her right and Morana on her left, though not another word passes between them until they have started down the stretching trail leading to the lower courtyards.</p>
<p>"So am I privy to the 'something else' you mentioned?" Morana asks. "If not, feel free to say so."</p>
<p>"As a matter of fact, you are." Striga thinks one last time, swallows the little lump in her throat. "I slept in this evening, if you can believe it...I was dreaming of you."</p>
<p>"Oh?" Morana's heart breaks into a sprint and she feels the need to swoon.</p>
<p>
  <span> "Nothing...inappropriate, I assure you, but it </span>
  <em>was</em>
  <span> pleasant. The other night, when I was holding you and we talked...it was rather nice."</span>
</p>
<p>"It was." She can feel blood pooling in her cheeks now, but she refuses the reflex to hide her face. "It's also nice to think I'm reason enough for you to stay in bed."</p>
<p>Striga side eyes her, brows cocked unevenly, and the slightest smirk with a suggestion of fangs in it. "Do I sense an innuendo, my lady?" she dares.</p>
<p>"Suppose you do? What of it?" Morana is grinning now as well, her fangs plainly visible, unashamed.</p>
<p>
  <span> Striga sighs and tips back her head, grinning a little wider, though briefly. "One thing you can expect to never change between us, my lady, is my need for you to speak plainly. While the suggestion in your voice surely does convey another meaning, which I </span>
  <em>do </em>
  <span>hear, I cannot begin to decipher exactly which meaning you are inferring. So if you mean to tease me, I would ask you to find another way."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Ah, I see now." Morana nods and she makes certain Striga is looking at her before saying "What I am inferring is that I am </span>
  <em>very</em>
  <span> interested in discovering other ways I could keep you in bed </span>
  <em>outside</em>
  <span> of pleasant dreams."</span>
</p>
<p>Striga breaks from her gaze and fixes her eyes resolutely forward, her brows rising towards her hairline in sudden surprise, most of which is directed at herself at the feeling of blood in her cheeks.</p>
<p>Morana waits patiently, a moment or two that offers her nothing but silence. "Does talk of lovemaking offend you, general?" And the question is not in a teasing tone, it is cautious, thoughtful and sincere.</p>
<p>"Not at all, I'm just surprised." Striga admits unsteadily, though it is the truth. "It's only our first full night of courting, and already you have plans to relieve me of my virtue. Ambitious, no?"</p>
<p>Morana finds relief in that, and sees fit to laugh a little. "Ambition is one of my finer qualities." She nods once.</p>
<p>"So I am learning." Striga laughs as well, some of her insecurity ebbing with it. "And to think we have yet to even kiss."</p>
<p>
  <span> "Well, once you are of the mind to change that, be sure to let me know. I will </span>
  <em>happily</em>
  <span> oblige."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Happily?</em>
  <span> Striga thinks. </span>
  <em>Truly? She would be happy...to kiss </em>
  <span>me</span>
  <em>? Will wonders never cease?</em>
</p>
<p>
  <span> This particular string of thoughts hangs on Striga through her archery practice, and it certainly alters her performance, but in a way only she appears to notice. She didn't hit a single bull's eye, even missed one target completely. However, she doesn't let this discourage her or sprout resentment to her own feelings; she knows it is simply the novelty of all this. Surely, once this matter settles, for better or worse, she would be able to focus properly again. Until then, she would stomach the little struggle and learn to concentrate harder in the future.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> In the end Morana still offers genuine praise for her skill and refuses Striga the attempt to argue to the contrary. There's naught else to do but accept, and then she extends her hand to help Morana up onto the horse's back for the slow and steady trot back to the palace. This time, Morana doesn't waste a second before putting an arm about her waist, and doesn't resist the urge to lean against Striga's back and whisper into her ear, "</span>
  <em>Faster</em>
  <span>,"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> A sweet vibration tickles through her skin, raising gooseflesh. "As you wish." And with a snap of the reins and the press of her heels, the horse goes galloping up the trail. Striga wonders how the idea of riding for leisure would sit with Morana, if she would object to letting Striga sit behind </span>
  <em>her</em>
  <span>, to hold her instead. Mercy, Striga's arms would swallow her whole, but she would be perfectly safe. Striga smiles to herself, noticing she has a rather strong pulse.</span>
</p>
<p>The sisters mutually refrain from walking back to the palace arm in arm, both mindful of their agreed discretion for the time being. But they are all but attached at the hip as they walk side by side, hardly a breath of space between them. Once within the castle, however, Morana's arm slips beneath Striga's as the doors swing closed behind them, drawing Striga's attention that they might share a little smile.</p>
<p>"Is there any business for us, my lady?"</p>
<p>"Nothing imperative. Had you meant to make plans?"</p>
<p>"Perhaps." Striga nods and lilts her head, a little coy. "If you have the time, I would ask for your help with a not-so-crucial project."</p>
<p>"Which is?"</p>
<p>"I have been giving it some thought, and I believe it may be time to...better furnish my chambers. Make it at least appear to be a place that is lived in, not just slept in. That, and if we mean to spend more time together, be it for business or pleasure," that last word has a hint of suggestion to it, "then there should be more comfortable amenities for you than the rug in front of my hearth. You have done no less for me, so I thought to return the gesture."</p>
<p>
  <span> "</span>
  <em>I</em>
  <span> believe your rug is rather charming, though I agree that it isn't the softest seat. Very well, I will be happy to give the matter my full attention."</span>
</p>
<p>"Seeing as you will be the primary beneficiary, I thought it best." Striga reaches across her own chest to pat Morana's hand that rests on her forearm. "Though, if you would excuse me, I should clean up."</p>
<p>"Very well, by your leave. I shall see you again shortly." though her reluctance to part is not audible in her voice.</p>
<p>They remain in ascending the staircase, and all the way to where the corridor splits in twain, Morana's hand lingering in her parting touch before they go their separate ways.</p>
<p>Striga unconsciously hurries off to her apartment, unfastening her sword belt as she goes in order to save a few precious moments. For what, she isn't entirely certain, she just feels an unusual need to be timely. Once inside she sets her sword on the table beside the haphazardly strewn collection of knives, making a mental note to deal with the little mess once she has a spare moment. Then she's twisting out of her clothes, picking a corner of the room to toss them into, and then promptly digging through the bundle of freshly laundered garments that also sits on the table.</p>
<p>That sense of urgency seems to ebb when she settles into the tub, the still steaming water up to her bust, then to her collar bones when she dips her arms beneath the surface after quickly pulling her hair back into a messy but sturdy bun. Striga takes several minutes to simply be still, not even a pulse present enough to disturb the pristine mirror of the water's surface. Her mind is completely, tranquilly blank.</p>
<p>
  <span> Though, as the minutes slink by, she allows little thoughts to slip back in, and all of them have something to do with Morana. Not one thing in particular, just her, just the idea of her and the abrupt yet not entirely disruptive shift in the nature of their relationship. Striga knew she wasn't quick to change and typically displeased by the mere prospect of it, but this...why was this so different? Then again, nothing really </span>
  <em>felt</em>
  <span> like it had changed, not even her feelings to be honest. Of course she </span>
  <em>cares</em>
  <span> for Morana; they are sisters, sisters care for one another, support each other, and the idea that most of the other feelings she has towards her are driven by curiosity is only a little unsettling. Shouldn't she love her?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Though...isn't that what courtship is for? To see what the feelings become, if anything? I mean...I do </em>
  <span>like</span>
  <em> her...but if that is all this is to be? ...I don't wish to hurt her heart.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"Such is the risk we take."</em>
</p>
<p>She hears Morana's words echoing in her mind now, finds a marginal comfort in it. Knowing that, at the very least, they both understood the stakes of the matter makes it easier to stomach.</p>
<p>
  <em>Maybe it's too soon to worry about these things...so much remains to be seen...so we shall see.</em>
</p>
<p>At that, Striga pulls herself out of her deep contemplation to finish washing up. She tarries a little while drying off, seated on the marble bench beside the tub and contemplating the small cabinet between the bench and the tub. Behind the glass panels in the doors are a collection of bottles, mostly the same size, full of what she can only assume are various oils meant to go into one's bathwater. Striga had never given much thought to such frivolities as this, and is curious as to why she's suddenly doing so now.</p>
<p>
  <em>I know I don't smell </em>
  <span>bad</span>
  <em>, but...do I smell good? Would Morana even notice? Is she the sort to care?</em>
  <span> Because she knows there are some who are drawn by scent, like Welsh and many of her kind. Striga spares a thought to her friend and her wife, how their greetings often consisted of Welsh pressing into her wife's neck or hair and taking a long draw through flared nostrils, before even words or a kiss.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Morana isn't tall enough for that.</em>
  <span> Striga smirks to herself, knowing the top of her sister's head barely reached her shoulders. </span>
  <em>But I am...</em>
  <span> Now all she can think about is Morana's soft hair and the toned lines of her neck.</span>
</p>
<p>Still...she is worth the attempt. In any case, at the very least, Striga feels she could learn something from it, and takes the time to file through the vials until she finds a scent she likes. Just a couple drops for her hands and neck. Who knows, right?</p>
<p>
  <span> Coming back into her room, Striga starts into tidying up the place. Per the usual, it isn't what anyone would call a mess, but she still feels the need to do it. She goes for the clean clothes on her table, meaning to simply dump it all in the chest at the foot of her bed like always with the intent to fold it all properly later. Yet, as the armful of garments flops into the open box, her attention is diverted by the article on top of the pile, a long coat that both is and isn't hers. Well, it's hers </span>
  <em>now</em>
  <span>. Striga had collected it from a bandit she had dispatched, thinking it would be a shame for a fine coat like this to go to waste, and had sent it off to be laundered and to have the hole punched through the back repaired. Holding it up and looking it over, she seems pleased at the work. Could almost pass as new.</span>
</p>
<p>The coat is heavy with muted, red dyed wool and a padded lining, the collar and inner lapels plush with jet black fleece, just like the cuffs. A dozen buttons line the breast of the coat, at a glance they look to be wooden, possibly even made of horn per the rough edges, and are sewn securely into place with still vibrant copper colored thread. The loops meant to hold the buttons are made of the same material and intricately embroidered. She slips it on, not at all surprised when it feels slightly snug in the arms and shoulders; such are the struggles of being built like a draft animal.</p>
<p>There's a knock at the door and Striga absently gives permission to enter, assuming it must be Morana, which it is.</p>
<p>"I hope that means you've had sufficient time to make yourself decent." Morana says with a smile Striga can hear. She steps inside and away from the door, making room for several attendants to start hauling in the new furnishings.</p>
<p>
  <span> "I've got clothes on, if that what you mean. As for decency, well," Striga turns around, still wearing the coat. "Have them set the furniture anywhere, I'd prefer to arrange it myself."</span>
</p>
<p>Morana doesn't answer immediately, presently far too focused on Striga. Her hair is still pulled up, putting her neck on full display with only the sparsest shadows of loose tresses curling against her skin. And then that coat...</p>
<p>"You're staring again,"</p>
<p>"Of course, my apologies." Morana blinks and shakes her head, then nods and tries to do something productive to at least attempt to ignore the feeling of blood in her cheeks. "I hoped you wouldn't mind, but I made arrangements for dinner to be brought."</p>
<p>"I don't mind at all, in fact you have my thanks."</p>
<p>Not another word passes between the two of them until the attendants have completed their delivery and left. Striga strides across the room to have a closer look at the selection, nodding in apparent approval after but a moment.</p>
<p>"Bookshelves?" she asks. "And a wardrobe?"</p>
<p>"You should have somewhere to properly store your clothes, and I remembered your interest in visiting the archives eventually, so I thought you could use a shelf or two. Should you find some texts that interest you, you'll be able to keep them here and in some semblance of order."</p>
<p>"Indeed. And, by the same token, I see no harm in keeping books here for you as well, seeing as you will likely be visiting often."</p>
<p>"No more often than what suits you, I assure you. I'd hate to become an annoyance."</p>
<p>Striga chuckles in her throat, a soft sound, and smirks. "I'm sure you have the potential to be a number of things, my lady, but I doubt 'an annoyance' is one of them."</p>
<p>
  <span> "Still, I appreciate the thought all the same." she smiles and lilts her head. "But, if I might change the subject for a moment, I </span>
  <em>must</em>
  <span> know where you got such a fine coat."</span>
</p>
<p>"It's not mine, not originally." Striga puts out her arms out and looks down at herself. "You could say it's a trophy from my most recent hunt."</p>
<p>"Indeed? Aren't you resourceful." Morana's expression turns with interest as she closes the space between her and Striga. She's ready to explain her proximity as simply wanting a closer look, but Striga never asks. Looking up and down she chances to adjust the lapels just so, a knee-jerk need for symmetry, but, even when she seems satisfied, her hands do not lift away. They flatten against the spread of Striga's chest, like they belong there. "It suits you very well. You cut an impressive silhouette."</p>
<p>"I cut an impressive hole through his ribcage as well." Striga is visibly, but pleasantly surprised when Morana actually laughs.</p>
<p>"And," a quick inhale through her nose, "is that sandalwood?"</p>
<p>"Is it?" it's a genuine question, as she hadn't read the handwritten labels on the vials.</p>
<p>
  <span> "It's </span>
  <em>delightful</em>
  <span>."</span>
</p>
<p>Striga feels blood welling into her cheeks. "I'm glad you approve." she looks down and gives Morana a particular look, almost teasing, but she's telling the truth. "Though I suppose I should get out of this and put my room back in working order."</p>
<p>"Let me help."</p>
<p>Striga doesn't protest, doesn't say much of anything because her curiosity has gotten the better of her. She just wants to see what Morana means to do, find out what this is supposed to be.</p>
<p>Morana grips the lapels, mindful of her talons, and pulls up, mildly surprised by the garment's weight as she lifts it from Striga's shoulders. The back of the coat drops, pulling the sleeves with it, allowing Morana a now unobstructed view of Striga's shoulders and collarbones, as well as her upper arms as she's wearing the wine hued tunic with the high cut sleeves -if you could really call them sleeves. She stops the coat from falling passed Striga's elbows, holding it there so she could appreciate the view for just a moment.</p>
<p>"And here I thought you meant the furniture," Striga teases softly.</p>
<p>"I can help with that, as well." She replies, seemingly unfazed.</p>
<p>"...My eyes are up here, Morana."</p>
<p>Now the good lady laughs and eventually tips her head back, still smiling when she meets Striga's eyes. "Forgive me."</p>
<p>"Did I ask for an apology?" Striga cocks up one eyebrow, mimicking the edge of a fang showing in her smirk. "Am I so pleasing to your eyes?"</p>
<p>"Very much so." Morana feels a fresh wave of blood in her face. It's enough to make her follow through with pulling the coat down Striga's arms and gather it up to drape over the foot of Striga's bed. "I suppose I no longer see the need to try so hard to hide it, considering that you are now aware of my feelings."</p>
<p>"Hm, makes sense."</p>
<p>"Though, if you're uncomfortable," her smile grows unsteady.</p>
<p>"No discomfort, just...curiosity. I don't believe anyone has ever looked at me the way you do."</p>
<p>"And that is a shame." Morana insists. Then she gestures with her hand towards the cluster of furnishings. "Now, shall we?"</p>
<p>"I can move it all easily enough, but an extra pair of eyes would be helpful." Striga explains as she quickly maneuvers around Morana.</p>
<p>
  <span> "If it pleases you." and Morana situates herself near the common table in an effort to stay out of Striga's way. At first she isn't entirely pleased with the idea, having hoped to have been more helpful than this, but then she realizes she is in the perfect place to watch Striga heft the large, plush, chair with those powerful arms and carry it towards the hearth. </span>
  <em>Maybe this isn't the worst arrangement.</em>
</p>
<p>Even with her eyes darting across Striga's body, Morana manages to focus enough to give bits of direction until the chair is set into place, the back of it facing the door but slightly turned so that it faces the fireplace at an angle. Striga pulls it back a little further when Morana points out the matching ottoman, quickly coming to fetch it and put it in place. The other piece is a loveseat, the upholstery matching the chair and ottoman -a rich, dark burgundy- and Striga's only issue with carrying it is the awkward shape. She isn't quite sure where to grab it that doesn't risk her knocking something as she carries it where she means it to be. In the end she simply pushes it across the floor, wincing at the one squeal of wood against marble. She arranges it much like the chair, at an angle that faces the fireplace as well as its partner pieces. For a moment Striga just stands there and looks at the ensemble around her bearskin rug, studying to make sure it's the way she wants it.</p>
<p>
  <span> "Oh, </span>
  <em>this</em>
  <span> is what you wanted it for,"</span>
</p>
<p>Morana's voice draws Striga's attention immediately, her expression already set with curiosity that only deepens when she sees that Morana isn't looking back at her. Still, she quickly follows the line of her sister's gaze to the barricade full of gouges. "Oh, yes. What did you think I used it for?"</p>
<p>"I hadn't the slightest idea." Morana's shaking her head, smiling awkwardly. She looks to the table beside her. "And that's quite the collection."</p>
<p>"A soldier can never have too many."</p>
<p>
  <span> "A wise sentiment." Morana nods, chancing to pick up one of the small ones, the blade between the pads of her fingers. Looking back down she spies the nice one with the brass fittings and the leather sheath. "Though </span>
  <em>that</em>
  <span> is easily the biggest knife I've ever seen."</span>
</p>
<p>"That's my bear knife."</p>
<p>"For hunting bears?"</p>
<p>Without missing a beat, "For sheering sheep."</p>
<p>Morana blinks, baffled.</p>
<p>Striga's expression flattens more than what is typical after a moment, when her sister has no further reaction. "...Yes, for hunting bears. Pardon my poor attempt at humor."</p>
<p>
  <span> For what it's worth, Morana smiles and chuckles. "Your delivery is so dry, no wonder I missed it at first. Though that </span>
  <em>was</em>
  <span> clever."</span>
</p>
<p>"Hm." Striga chuffs, shrugging off the little embarrassment. "I could show-," Striga stops herself, thinking again, "suppose you know how to throw?"</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana meets her inquiring eyes with a smirk, one just large enough to make one dimple manifest before a flick of her wrist sends the knife flying with a faint whistle. She hadn't blinked, hadn't looked away in the slightest, and the blade hits painfully close to the center of one of the charcoal circles. Somehow Striga stops her jaw from dropping, but she can do absolutely nothing about the singular, jolting clench below her navel that coincides with the punctuated </span>
  <em>thock</em>
  <span> of iron striking solid wood. Now all Striga can think about is that smirk of hers and the wild and silent inquiries buzzing in her skull of what else she might be able to do with a knife -or in general.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "I suppose I do." Morana answers at last, casually, masking the fact that she </span>
  <em>knows</em>
  <span> that display had some sort of affect on Striga. Though she's curious as to how, as the only real evidence she has is the steady pulse she can hear and the widening darkness of Striga's slitted pupils. "Now let's finish this, hm?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "O-of course." </span>
  <em>Mercy, I am a </em>
  <span>mess</span>
  <em>.</em>
</p>
<p>The last of the work isn't all that much, a pair of small end tables and the bookshelves. The shelves Striga hoists up on either arm and carries to place next to her small desk. There's just enough space between the desk and the wall for them to fit. When she turns away she sees Morana putting the last of the end tables in place, just beside the arm of the loveseat and away from the fireplace. On top of the little table is a stack of something Striga can't quite recognize until Morana pulls an edge of it, unfolding it. "Pelts?"</p>
<p>Morana nods. "Not only does it pull the decor of the space together, but perhaps it might also tempt you to stop sleeping on the floor."</p>
<p>Striga smiles casually and fights the urge to roll her eyes. Instead she stands just behind the loveseat and crosses her arms. "You're bound and determined to get me off the rug, aren't you?"</p>
<p>"A side project, but a project nonetheless." And Morana just smiles back as she drapes the softly tanned hide over the back of the chair. "I can't help but wonder what you slept on before coming to live in the castle,"</p>
<p>"A rank of wooden crates in a root cellar." Striga answers without hesitation. Her brows knit at the look her sister casts. "What? At least I didn't sleep in the dirt."</p>
<p>"True enough." Morana concedes, going about doing the same for the loveseat what she had done for the chair.</p>
<p>When all is said and done they both take a step back, standing side by side to have a good long look at the result of their joint effort.</p>
<p>"Do you approve?"</p>
<p>"Do you?"</p>
<p>"I asked you first." Striga nudges her with an elbow, a little laugh when Morana pushes back. "But yes, this suits me just fine."</p>
<p>"Likewise." Morana agrees. "Could use a couple throw pillows, I think, but it functions for now. Why not have a seat?"</p>
<p>"After you, my lady." Striga gestures with her hand and lilts her head, watching Morana situate on the end of the loveseat, away from the hearth. Part of her had hoped she would, as Striga wanted nothing more at the moment than to get a fire going.</p>
<p>Now Morana is watching as Striga crouches in front of the hearth, laying a collection of logs on the iron frame within before igniting them with a spark that erupts with a snap of her fingers. Only when she is satisfied it will stay lit does Striga join Morana on the loveseat, the cushion dipping enough from the addition of her weight to nearly pull Morana towards her. Not that it would have been so terrible if it had. Regardless, Morana scoots across the meager space between them anyway, and Striga is content to lift her arm as if in invitation.</p>
<p>
  <span> "Rather cozy, yes?" Striga asks softly. Her arm rests across the top of the small sofa, part of her unsure if Morana wished to be held or not.</span>
</p>
<p>"Quite." Morana smiles comfortably, leaning into Striga's side and, at the same time, answering her sister's silent inquiry. Feeling the weight of Striga's arm across her back seems to solidify the moment, make it real. "Do you know any more spells?"</p>
<p>"A few, just little, practical things." Striga props her other arm on the arm of the sofa, her cheek resting against her fist that she might look at Morana. "Fire, fog banks, I can call a storm in a pinch, but it's difficult."</p>
<p>Morana grins to herself. "There are rumors that you can turn into a giant raven."</p>
<p>
  <span> Striga buzzes her lips. "That's one I haven't heard, but it is as equally false as </span>
  <em>many</em>
  <span> of the others."</span>
</p>
<p>"Such as?"</p>
<p>
  <span> "I believe word once went around that I ate babies, which is preposterous. What reason could </span>
  <em>anyone</em>
  <span> have to harm a child?"</span>
</p>
<p>Morana finds the sentiment surprisingly noble, touching in a way. "Suppose it's no more ridiculous than that myth about garlic."</p>
<p>
  <span> "Which I'm actually grateful for, because I </span>
  <em>do</em>
  <span> rather enjoy it." Striga nods, mostly to herself. "But would you happen to know any magic?"</span>
</p>
<p>"Well, yes and no. My methods are rather...unorthodox. However, I'm afraid I'm not of the mind to explain it at present."</p>
<p>"Oh? That's a surprise."</p>
<p>"What can I say? This sort of comfort makes it difficult to focus." Because she is particularly comfortable right now, the moment all but storybook.</p>
<p>"Fair enough. The sofa is rather soft."</p>
<p>
  <span> "I wasn't referring to the </span>
  <em>sofa</em>
  <span>." Morana drawls, gently prodding Striga in the ribs. Her sister jumps, making Morana straighten and pull away. "Oh, still a little bruised?"</span>
</p>
<p>"Of course not." Striga has the strangest twist in her expression, like she's trying to be neutral while at the same trying attempting and failing not to smile. And she had brought her arm down, tucking it to her side on top of her other hand, as if she's guarding it. "I'm fine."</p>
<p>"What's the matter then?"</p>
<p>"Nothing." she's steadily losing the fight not to smile.</p>
<p>
  <span> "Now </span>
  <em>that's</em>
  <span> a lie." Morana looks at her with uneven brows, her head cocked at a curious angle. "What is....wait,"</span>
</p>
<p>Striga tucks her lips tightly between her teeth, though the corners of her mouth still have an upward turn.</p>
<p>"Are you ticklish?" Morana cuts a smile like a wound, all teeth, her eyes glistening with interest. Morana moves, barely an inch forward, and Striga immediately tries to escape through the arm of the sofa.</p>
<p>When her lips pop from between her teeth her mouth is set in a toothy smile, her eyes wide. One hand is up, pointing at Morana. "You keep your claws to yourself, woman! I've killed men for lesser things!"</p>
<p>
  <span> "Come now, general," Morana purrs, inching a little closer, flexing her fingers, daring. "You couldn't </span>
  <em>possibly </em>
  <span>believe I would ever harm you,"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Morana," Striga warns, looking ready to perch on the arm of the loveseat if it meant keeping out of reach, her body coiling in on itself like the spring on a trap. "</span>
  <em>Don't</em>
  <span>,"</span>
</p>
<p>There's a knock on the door that captures both of their attention, though Striga seizes the opportunity to all but jump up from the sofa, still grinning like a fool as she somewhat hurries to answer the door. Morana watches her, also holding a smile full of amusement that only grows when Striga keeps casting her gaze back at her, like she's expecting Morana to get up and chase her down.</p>
<p>
  <span> Thankfully the servants have come with their dinner, a sufficient reason for Morana to keep her hands to herself for the time being. They sit together at the common table and eat, surprisingly saying very little, at least out loud. The looks they offer one another say more than enough.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Author's Note:</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> Did someone say soft, domestic gay shit? Because I'm pretty sure someone said soft, domestic gay shit. I kind of love the idea of them hitting it off really, really well once it's out in the open that Morana has feelings, and even though Striga is mostly in it out of curiosity -for the time being- she is enjoying it too. Next chapter is only going to get gayer. So thanks for all the support and hope to see you there!</span>
  </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter Thirteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Four nights. Had it really been only four nights?</p>
<p>Four nights of...what to call it? Well, there is a name for it already, <em>courtship</em><span>, yet that feels too simple. It doesn't say or explain nearly enough to make sense of how Striga has felt over that seemingly miniscule span of time.</span></p>
<p>
  <span> She has felt...important? Yes, perhaps that was it. Striga felt like the center of attention whenever she was with Morana, and for the first time in unknown years she doesn't feel anxiety over it. She is a </span>
  <em>priority</em>
  <span>, which might be more accurate. As a soldier, even as a general, being first in anyone's mind is nearly unheard of, unless, of course, someone needed her for something. Consideration towards her had only gone so far as her usefulness, so to have Morana simply </span>
  <em>give it</em>
  <span>, because she desired to or because she lo-...who knows. In any case, it was jarring, but pleasantly so, to process the idea of meaning something to someone like this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana had shown some changes as well, and Striga discovered them easily. Not that Morana was trying to hide them, which was, coincidentally, one such change. Morana was more relaxed, though only slightly less formal. She didn't seem to be consciously trying to put on a certain facet of herself for Striga to see any longer, and was simply being herself. She appeared to smile so easily now, no more attempts to hide it in order to keep her secret. She was visibly </span>
  <em>comfortable</em>
  <span>, and that, in turn, comforted Striga. By the same token, Morana had to be one of the only people she has ever met that didn't seem to be intimidated by her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana is a truly exceptional woman, she thinks. Yes, exceptional. And </span>
  <em>affectionate.</em>
  <span> If they are not sitting across from one another at the </span>
  <em>shatranj</em>
  <span> board, it was a rare moment indeed when Striga had access to both of her hands as Morana surely had a grip on one of them. It is like Morana </span>
  <em>thrives</em>
  <span> on touch, which, considering what Striga knows about her, isn't really all that surprising. Nonetheless, Striga is more than happy to accommodate her. Their trip to the archives made Striga feel like a horse being pulled by the reins, which wasn't as bad as it sounds. Morana's eagerness to show her around and discuss the books had been endearing, and the apparent delight she seemed to take in doing so made Striga's heart melt -something she isn't entirely sure she has felt before. Certainly not towards another person.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Otherwise, the last few nights had been mundane, domestic even, as the two of them simply went about their routines unchanged, but made efforts to meet the moment they had free time. Now that Striga felt her chambers were more hospitable to company, she was sure to at least attempt to extend more invitations to Morana -she hated the idea of possibly taking advantage of the good lady's joy of hosting. The two of them made regular use of the loveseat, content to simply be close and talk about everything and nothing. Striga manages to get most if not all of her questions answered - </span>
  <em>"had you really been flirting with me all that time? You've seen me naked...did you approve?</em>
  <span>- watching Morana squirm and fluster under that last inquiry was particularly entertaining, and possibly the darkest she had ever seen Morana's cheeks to be. She had </span>
  <em>indeed</em>
  <span> approved.</span>
</p>
<p>If the last four nights had to be summed up in a word, Striga would consider it to be...fun. She knows there is much more to it than that, she feels it, but there is some work to do before she discerns what those feelings are.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With training complete for the night and freshly tidied up, Striga makes for Morana's apartment. Her good lady hadn't been present for her training session, but an attendant had relayed the message for Striga to come, that Morana was hosting Lorenzo who had arrived just after sunset. Striga acknowledges that she is only so agreeable to the idea, but swallows it down and carries on. It needed to be done and, besides, Morana would be there. Perhaps she wouldn't cause a scene this time.</p>
<p>
  <span> She knocks and waits for permission to enter, per the usual, and when she steps in she comes to an abrupt stop at "There you are!" coming from across the room. Looking forward her eyes immediately train on Lenore; she has twisted around in her seat at Morana's common table, her eyes alight and resolutely fixed on her.</span>
</p>
<p>"...Here I am, yes? What is this?" Striga's eyes flit from one sister to the other, finding Morana wearing an easy and knowing smile -not knowing that it is mostly for her.</p>
<p>"She knows." Morana says softly.</p>
<p>
  <span> "Ah, I see." Striga nods once, a slow and exaggerated gesture, and starts across the room. She offhandedly greets Lorenzo once she's close enough, then returns her attention to her sisters. "Judging by the way you're...</span>
  <em>vibrating</em>
  <span>, I can assume you approve of the arrangement, Lenore?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Of </span>
  <em>course</em>
  <span> I do!"</span>
</p>
<p>"She won't shut up." Morana adds.</p>
<p>"And why should I? Don't forget that I had a hand in this is well, so I'm entitled to some enjoyment." Lenore smiles and shimmies her head and shoulders, smug.</p>
<p>
  <span> "Oh, so my temptation was a </span>
  <em>joint</em>
  <span> effort?" Striga cocks an eyebrow and a smirk at Morana.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "I'm afraid my Sapphic sister was just </span>
  <em>too</em>
  <span> smitten with you to focus properly at times, my dear general."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Well," Striga lilts her head and inches her shoulders, "in my lady's defense, she had been incredibly patient for a </span>
  <em>long</em>
  <span> time, one could hardly blame her. Everyone has their limits, after all."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Oh, I'm not complaining, and that was not in detriment to Morana. I was absolutely </span>
  <em>thrilled</em>
  <span>, I hadn't had so much fun in I don't know how long."</span>
</p>
<p>"You live to tease me, don't you?" Morana chuckles, to which Lenore simply smiles, all teeth.</p>
<p>Striga laughs a little to herself, easing around the table to stand behind Morana. Her big hands cup her shoulders. "How are you this evening?" she asks softly.</p>
<p>"Mostly well, more so now that you're here." Morana crosses her arms and laces her fingers between Striga's, somewhat hugging herself. Neither of them seem to care that Lenore is watching them like a hawk from across the table. "Are you ready?"</p>
<p>"As I can be, yes."</p>
<p>"Good." Morana catches Lorenzo's attention and nods to him, the tailor rising from his seat.</p>
<p>"Mayhaps you could do something with your hair, general? It's beautiful, mind you, but it might make this go a little quicker if it was up."</p>
<p>Striga just nods, her hands going up reflexively. Morana tips back her head, looking up, eyes hopeful. "May I?"</p>
<p>"Oh. Um, very well." Striga's confusion is brief, simply accepting the gesture as her lady's preference. She watches Morana stand up and gesture for her to sit, following the gentle direction without a word.</p>
<p>It starts as a tingle buzzing down the length of Striga's spine, just from Morana's hands gathering up the greater length of her hair to straighten it out, unusual but certainly not unpleasant. Then Striga feels the edges of talons delicately threading against her scalp, the tingle washing through her entire body as her eyes reflexively close. Lenore had been talking to her, maybe, but whoever she had been talking to and whatever she might have been saying is suddenly lost. Striga's mind is blank and it seems like every ounce of tension in her body has bled out.</p>
<p>
  <span> Lenore sees the change, the general's eyes turning up before they close and her head dips forward, and stops herself mid-sentence. Her gaze flits up to Morana, unsure if she has noticed it as she seems perfectly content regardless. So Lenore simply watches in silence, feeling her heart swell under the perfect </span>
  <em>softness</em>
  <span> of the scene. Whatever she meant to talk about could wait a moment more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> It will take a soft pat on the shoulder to pull Striga back up from her impromptu doze, her head popping up and eyes blinking, rubbing a certain heaviness from her eyes. She was done already? Wait...how long has it been? Didn't she just get started? None of this is asked aloud, and Striga simply nods and gives thanks after reflexively reaching up and feeling the unusually tight and tidy bun Morana had made. She wobbles a little when standing up, the slightest rush in her head, and she hopes that her sisters don't see it as she leaves to table. Lorenzo guides her to step behind a tall, wooden screen, though it is only tall enough to cover her up to the chin.</span>
</p>
<p>Morana takes back her seat, briefly watching Striga before turning back to face Lenore, a smile still on her face as she sighs comfortably. When she catches her sister's wide and shiny eyes, her brows cock unevenly and she laughs. "What?"</p>
<p>
  <span> "That was so </span>
  <em>adorable</em>
  <span>." Lenore coos. "Keep that up and you'll have her around your little finger by month's end."</span>
</p>
<p>"Come now, that's not what I'm trying to do."</p>
<p>
  <span> "I didn't say you were </span>
  <em>trying</em>
  <span>, I'm just telling you what is bound to happen. That towering, brick wall of a woman was dough in your hands just now."</span>
</p>
<p>"I heard that, Lenore," Striga calls out.</p>
<p>"And I meant every word," Lenore responds without hesitation. "But, all teasing aside, it's nice to see you so happy."</p>
<p>Morana's smile widens. "It's nice to feel this happy. And to think, we've barely just begun."</p>
<p>Lenore leans forward, her hands bracing the edge of the table. "Have you kissed yet?"</p>
<p>"Are you familiar with the saying that a woman is entitled to her secrets?"</p>
<p>Striga calls out again, "If the Lady Morana still needed to breathe, I would have tragically smothered her by now." delivering it with her usual dry flair.</p>
<p>Lenore cackles, arms folded across her belly and her head tipped back. Morana smiles in spite of herself, able to contain her amusement long enough to reply, "Lying doesn't suit you, my dear general." though the laughter starts bleeding into her words halfway through.</p>
<p>"Just like these trousers, I'm afraid."</p>
<p>Somehow that offhanded comment made Morana laugh harder, though neither of them will ever understand exactly why.</p>
<p>"When do you suppose you'll tell Carmilla?" Lenore asks once she's recovered, her cheeks still a dull pink.</p>
<p>"Eventually." is all the energy she devotes to the answer, not thinking it needed more than that. "And I would appreciate your discretion on my behalf."</p>
<p>
  <span> "Naturally. Although I would </span>
  <em>love</em>
  <span> to be there when she finds out, I bet the look on her face would be one for the ages."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Would that be the face </span>
  <em>before</em>
  <span> or </span>
  <em>after</em>
  <span> she gets smug and bitchy about being right?" Striga asks aloud after tugging a shirt over her head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Lenore looks to contemplate the question a moment, then "Likely before." Because Striga has a very valid point. "That </span>
  <em>does</em>
  <span> sound like her, doesn't it?"</span>
</p>
<p>"It does." Morana agrees. "Her ego is perfectly suitable for a monarch, but is otherwise an incredible pain in the ass." She smiling again when she hears Striga's punctuated laugh. "But I'm sure we shall see in any case, in due time."</p>
<p>"There's always the possibility that she already knows." Lenore considers, then grins. "But after that righteous sassing over dinner the other night, she might be doing better to keep it to herself."</p>
<p>Morana smirks, but then it dissolves. "You don't think I was too hard on her, do you?"</p>
<p>"Of course not." Striga and Lenore echo one another, in unison. Lenore continues with "She needs to realize that we're serious about the issue of mutual respect. She may have had evidence for her suspicions, but the suggestions she made were out of line."</p>
<p>"Especially since it seems that she knows you far better than to believe you would conduct yourself in such a manner." Striga adds. "There must be accountability, even for her, else she'll never learn."</p>
<p>"Well said, general." Now Lenore's attention is back on Morana. "We're in this together and we need to hold each other to the standard."</p>
<p>"Suppose so." Morana nods after a moment. "Though I can't help but wonder if it's going to feel like I'm eating crow when I tell her."</p>
<p>"Why should it?"</p>
<p>A moment passes without a word, and Morana eventually concedes.</p>
<p>The fitting concludes without incident, Lorenzo looking pleased with the experience and with what little work he would have to do. He promises to finish the alterations and fill the requisition by week's end, and he and Striga actually shake hands as he gathers his things and leaves Morana's apartment. The three sisters linger together a while longer, long enough to share a meal and a few rounds of blood before Lenore dismisses herself.</p>
<p>For a moment it's quiet, the two of them simply occupying space together, more enjoyable now that it's just the two of them.</p>
<p>"Everything all right?" Morana asks softly.</p>
<p>"I am...tired." Striga admits. "Too much socializing I think...that, and Taubert kicked my ass again."</p>
<p>Morana nods, briefly fixated on the pale slope of Striga's neck, laid bare with her hair tied back as it is. "Suppose you'll retire?"</p>
<p>"I am considering it." Striga takes a breath, weighing the little thought dancing in her mind, then slides her eyes to look at Morana. Maybe she wasn't tired of socializing -she was, but that isn't the entire reason behind her fatigue- as much as she was tired of sharing. "Perhaps my lady would like to join me, if only for a short while?"</p>
<p>"She would like that very much." Morana smiles at her. "You go on ahead, I would like to change clothes." Because if this visit is to be anything resembling all the others, it would likely last to sunrise and she would feel the need to go to bed right after.</p>
<p>"Very well."</p>
<p>They both stand up, eyes lingering on one another as they briefly take each other's hand before parting.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When Morana steps through Striga's door, she immediately notices that the lightning glass is dark and the hearth is crackling with fire. Her gaze fixes on the dark outline of Striga in the chair, her head propped on her fist. She consciously keeps her movements quiet, crossing the room like a spirit in her nightgown and housecoat. For a moment she remains beside the chair when she reaches it, tucking her book beneath her arm and watching Striga as she appears to sleep -of course she isn't, Morana can hear the faint pulse, so Striga certainly knows she's there. Morana feels a touch of satisfaction at how comfortable she looks, lounging with her now bare feet resting on the ottoman, ankles crossed.</p>
<p>"Sit where you like, my lady." Striga hums, not moving anything other than her lips.</p>
<p>For a moment, all Morana does is smile, until one of Striga's eyes opens partly, the bright green iris settled on her. "We are alone, you can use my name."</p>
<p>"I know." the littlest smirk. "I do not mean it as a formality."</p>
<p>"Then how do you mean it?"</p>
<p>"As it sounds." Striga explains simply, that smirk growing when she hears Morana's pulse grow loud enough. "You are <em>my lady</em>, aren't you?"</p>
<p>There is no suggestive lilt, no innuendo that Morana can discern aside from the little smile, it sounds genuine and heavy and intimate, and it catches her a little off guard. "I...would certainly like to think I am."</p>
<p>Striga's eye closes again and her smile shows teeth as she takes a breath. "Good. Now, please sit."</p>
<p>"...Might I sit with you?"</p>
<p>Striga makes a sound of curiosity, her brows knitting tightly in the middle before she opens her eyes and looks at Morana, puzzled. Then her expression twists again, now in consideration, and her eyes move from Morana, off to the side to something invisible, and back again. Then she nods, straightening in her chair and putting her feet on the floor.</p>
<p>"Is this why you picked such a large chair?"</p>
<p>"Well, you <em>did say</em> these furnishings were mostly for <em>me</em>," Morana smiles knowingly as comes forward, curious but eager to see how Striga means to do this. "And if I can't convince you to use your own bed,"</p>
<p>"Not if it's the last thing I do." Striga teases.</p>
<p>"Then this will have to suffice."</p>
<p>Striga sits up straight and tries to fit into the corner where the back of the chair meets the arm, parting her thighs wide, clearly with the intent for Morana to sit there. She hears the little spike in Morana's pulse as she approaches and sits, the space just enough for her smaller frame. Striga encourages her with a hand to turn to the side, leaning back against one arm of the chair with her feet resting on the other. Striga's arm is across the width of her back, her big hand cupping Morana's ribs, their shoulders meeting between them.</p>
<p>"Is this all right?" Striga asks.</p>
<p>"It is." Morana's heart hums in her chest, but her answer is still truthful. "Are you still comfortable?"</p>
<p>"I am. Though, if you don't mind letting my hair down? I haven't the slightest idea how you did it, but I was afraid of making a tangle of it if I tried to do it myself."</p>
<p>"Of course."</p>
<p>Morana props her book against her thighs to free up her hands. She waits for Striga to tip her head forward, her forehead near Morana's jawline, before working to undo the bun at the nape of her neck. She carefully navigates her talons into the twists she had made earlier.</p>
<p>"Is that sandalwood I smell?" Morana asks softly.</p>
<p>"It is." Striga's voice rumbles through Morana, and she can't help but pick up on another flux of the good lady's heartbeat. "I actually read the label this time."</p>
<p>Morana chuckles. "What's the occasion?"</p>
<p>"Do I need one? I was under the impression that you liked it."</p>
<p>"I do, I was merely curious." Now she has the bun untied, taking care to pull it completely undone before letting the plentiful mass of sable silk drape around Striga's shoulder, much if it pooling in Morana's lap. But Morana can't help herself, letting her fingers remain threaded in Striga's hair, even as she lifts her head and looks back at her. Striga's expression is neutral, though her eyes are searching in a way, perhaps curious of what Morana means to do now.</p>
<p>The firelight paints incredible colors across Striga's face and flickers in her eyes, burning flashes of emeralds and gold. Morana loses herself to the desire to simply stare, to take her in and hold her, her thumbs lining the long shell of Striga's pointed ears while the rest of her fingers curl behind her broad neck.</p>
<p>She is so beautiful, and Morana wants to kiss her <em>so</em> badly.</p>
<p>"Morana?"</p>
<p>"I'm sorry." Blood rushes into her cheeks, hidden by fireside shadows. "That was rude. Your hair is terribly soft."</p>
<p>"Surely no more than your own." Striga cocks her head.</p>
<p>"But it's mine, it's familiar. Yours is...well, yours." Morana tries to withdraw her hands, only for Striga to grab one of her wrists, gently.</p>
<p>"You don't have to stop if you do not wish to. Truth be told, I actually like it. Like earlier,"</p>
<p>"When you were, how did Lenore put it," Morana laughs and thinks, "dough in my hands?"</p>
<p>Striga grumbles and rolls her eyes. "Yes, that. Still, I wouldn't mind if you were so inclined as to do it again."</p>
<p>"Very well."</p>
<p>Morana pulls her wrist free of Striga's hand easily, she barely had much of a hold to start with, and starts gathering up Striga's hair again to negotiate it over her other shoulder. The two of them shift a little, Morana's arm stuck between them coming to rest on Striga's shoulder and bending behind her neck. Striga lets her head rest there, on the ball of Morana's shoulder, and when the tips of Morana's claws make their first gentle pass across her scalp, brushing the tip of her ear, she rumbles contentedly.</p>
<p>For a moment, Morana simply enjoys it, because there are so many things that she is trying to feel at the same time. She does her best to just focus on one of them, that being the tactile sensation of smooth strands beneath her talons, silk threads around the pads of her fingers, and the vibration in her very bones of that sound Striga made. Then she acknowledges her own goosebumps and the surely mad sprinting of her heart, a pace that only quickens when Striga's arm -the one that isn't pinned behind Morana's back- drapes across her waist. With the physical elements accounted for, Morana allows a little attention for her emotions, which are currently a mess and could only vaguely be described as <em>too much</em>.</p>
<p>"Hm."</p>
<p>"What's that?"</p>
<p>"I've remembered something." Striga says just above a whisper, sounding half asleep already.</p>
<p>Grounded by her voice and the tangible structure of words for her mind to focus on, Morana feels herself become grounded again. She takes a chance and leans her head to the side, the softness of her cheek against Striga's forehead. "What is it?"</p>
<p>"When I was little," Striga starts, pauses a moment, "growing up...at night, papa and I would sit beside the fire. I would be in his lap, until I got too big at least, then I would sit as his feet and he would tell me stories. He loved to stroke my hair, much like you are doing now, said it reminded him of my mother."</p>
<p>"Are these...good memories?" She listens as Striga hums in response. "Then I am happy for you."</p>
<p>Another hum, neutral but still a sound of comfort. "What is this book you have brought with you?"</p>
<p>"Poetry."</p>
<p>"Sappho?"</p>
<p>"No, actually, but the themes are similar. You mentioned you were tired, so I thought to bring it on the chance that you dozed off."</p>
<p>"Hm." Striga shifts a little, hardly disturbing her guest. "Might you be of the mind to read aloud?"</p>
<p>"Would you prefer to be on the floor so you can sleep properly?" Morana chuckles softly.</p>
<p>"Suppose I earned that." Striga smiles, and Morana can feel it against her shoulder. "Still, would you?"</p>
<p>"It's in Arabic."</p>
<p>"That's fine."</p>
<p>Maybe that's for the better, Morana thinks. Many of these poems were passionate, intimate thoughts, powerful enough to possibly push someone away. Probably too big to fit between them yet.</p>
<p>"Just a few," she concedes in the end. "I prefer you to be awake while I'm visiting."</p>
<p>"As you wish."</p>
<p>With one hand still sifting through Striga's hair, Morana manages the book open with her other hand and braces it across the tops of her thighs.</p>
<p>Just like before, Striga simply listens, taking what she can by the sounds and their vibrations and Morana's unique speech patterns. She knows she is supposed to be trying to stay awake, but all of that coupled with the exquisite friction across her scalp and the gentle weight of her against Striga's body is making it a herculean effort of the highest order.</p>
<p>How could anyone, much less the <em>one woman</em> who had come to fancy her, be a source of so much comfort? Fate? Random chance? Does it really matter, especially since she is here, now, with her?</p>
<p>The reading only lasts a few minutes, a few blissful minutes that Morana wasn't consciously trying to rein in her feelings and could express them in a controlled, tangible way. It takes the edge off considerably, and she feels much more relaxed by the time the last few syllable leave her mouth.</p>
<p>"I love the way you read. You have a very soothing voice."</p>
<p><em>Love. She said </em>love<em>. </em>"Thank you." Morana closes the book slowly, her hand pressing down on the cover. Her other hand has stilled, raven tresses still circling her talons.</p>
<p>"Do you have a favorite? Out of the ones you just read, that is,"</p>
<p>"I do."</p>
<p>"Would you translate it for me?"</p>
<p>Morana pulls her lips between her teeth, thinking. After a moment of silence, part of her loathes to feel the weight of Striga's head lifting from her shoulder. She can feel eyes on her now, as she pulls her other hand into her lap, and doesn't much like it. "It's <em>terribly</em> romantic." she says as if to defend herself, the words quick and shielding.</p>
<p>"I had a feeling." Striga smirks, a little disheartened when Morana still won't look at her. "Though I would be willing to risk my weak constitution for it, for a chance to know you a little better."</p>
<p>Morana takes the comment for the joke it is meant to be, remembering that night when Striga had feigned nausea over a selection of pet names. It softens Morana, grounds her, and reminds her that Striga isn't nearly as critical of her as Morana is of herself.</p>
<p>Morana takes a stabilizing breath though her heart continues pounding against her sternum, and both of her hands now press against the book. She doesn't need to open it, having this particular passage memorized for decades now. "'I would split open my heart with a knife, place you within and seal my wound, that you might dwell there and never inhabit another until the resurrection and judgment day — thus you would stay in my heart while I lived, and at my death you too would die in the entrails of my core, in the shadow of my tomb.'"</p>
<p>Several silent moments drag by, for Morana it's nothing less than agonizing.</p>
<p>"Powerful words." Striga says at last.</p>
<p>"Would you believe they were written by a man?"</p>
<p>"<em>What</em>?" she sounds genuinely shocked. "You must be joking."</p>
<p>Morana feels her anxiety ebb with her own laughter. "It's true."</p>
<p>Striga contemplates for a moment, her expression shifting several times between varying degrees of shock and puzzlement, until she simply shakes her head in apparent acceptance. "Will wonders never cease. When people say 'the lord works in mysterious ways' suppose this is what they meant?"</p>
<p>"I wouldn't know."</p>
<p>"Why does it appeal to you so? If you don't mind my asking,"</p>
<p>"I suppose," it takes her a moment, realizing she has never really needed an answer because no one had ever posed the question. "It's comforting in a way. It tells me that someone else, even from centuries ago, has had such intense feelings like mine. Someone else has felt...love like I do, and that gives me a certain hope."</p>
<p>"A hope that you might find such someone?"</p>
<p>"Yes." though this answer comes easily as anything, and only now that it's out, laid bare for all to see, can Morana find it in her to meet Striga's gaze.</p>
<p>Though subtlety and innuendo have never been Striga's strong suit, she can't help but key into the almost tangible yet hidden weight behind Morana's words. She was making herself vulnerable, putting something fragile and irreplaceable on display. Something is telling Striga that Morana might have such hope for <em>her</em>, that Striga might be that someone.</p>
<p>In truth, part of her <em>wanted to be </em>that someone, and if she had what she felt were the proper words to say as much, she likely would have.</p>
<p>Instead, the conversation dies and they ease into a comfortable silence with Striga pulling Morana into a tighter, deliberate embrace. Morana willingly tucks against her, her head fitting perfectly in the bend of Striga's neck as she rests it there, her arms crossing her own chest. Striga keeps her arm curled across Morana's lower back, her big hand still at Morana's side, while the other lines the top of the chair.</p>
<p>They lose track of everything outside of one another, the time and the state of the fire in the hearth even as the room steadily darkens -more so desaturates, in regards to a vampire's eyes. It isn't until the entire room is varying shades of gray and Striga actually realizes it do either of them give regards to how long they had been sitting here.</p>
<p>Striga takes a moment to get her bearings, her head a little fuzzy as she had apparently dozed off at some point. The hearth is cold, no sign of embers, and the room is perfectly quiet and still, just like the good lady in her arms.</p>
<p>
  <em>She's fast asleep. I'd hate to wake her...but it's better that she be in her own bed. Just imagine if I put her in mine, the look on her face...no. Perhaps another time.</em>
</p>
<p>Maybe she could...well, if she's careful enough...what harm could it do?</p>
<p>With perhaps the greatest amount of gentle care that she has ever shown, Striga situates her free arm into the bend of Morana's knees and braces her back before standing up. Striga finds her balance with Morana situated comfortably in her arms and, thankfully, undisturbed, and then navigates her way to the door with even, steady steps. It's a bit of work to manage the door open without too much noise, but she accomplishes it. She will do the same with Morana's door, carefully bending at the knees so she can reach the handle, slowly pushing the door open as she goes so as not to risk putting too much force behind a nudge and send it knocking into the wall.</p>
<p>Striga briefly frets over how she could turn down the bed without potentially waking Morana, but decides it might be best to just use the spare blankets folded at the foot of the bed as she carefully lays Morana down atop the heavy down comforter. The book had survived the trip atop Morana's stomach, so Striga spares the attention needed to set it on the bedside table before reaching for one of the folded blankets.</p>
<p>After pulling the heavy woolen blanket up to rest at Morana's shoulders, Striga finds herself lingering, half hovering over her. <em>She really is beautiful. But so much more than that.</em> The thought flutters through her consciousness like a lazy butterfly, there and gone again but vibrant. She studies Morana's sleeping face, eyes eventually fixing on the catching curl of hair that rests against her cheek. For a split second Striga wonders how she does it, only to shake her head as it didn't much matter. Not presently. The far more pressing notion is the sudden, enormous desire to kiss her, something Striga can't remember having ever felt before.</p>
<p>
  <em>But...not now. It wouldn't be right now.</em>
</p>
<p>Striga straightens, contemplating Morana's face for just a moment longer. "Good morning, my lady."</p>
<p>All the way back to her apartment, to her bed in front of the now cold and quiet hearth, the poem Morana had read -at least the idea of it- echoed in her mind, her very bones.</p>
<p>Striga wants to be that person, no longer just in part, but in her entirety. She wants to be the one Morana was hoping for. And somehow, by acknowledging that, brought Striga a sort of peace she has never known. Sleep comes quickly, completely, and her dreams are full of beauty.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Author's note:</span>
  <span> For starters, before I forget, the poem is by the 11th Century Muslim Poet Ibn Hazm, and is one of his only surviving works.</span>
</p>
<p>Otherwise, so yeah, hope this is nice and soft and gay like I promised. Building trust and intimacy and comfort between them is paramount for me at the moment, so yeah. Hope that isn't a problem. Next chapter I shall finally gift the audience with something several of you have been asking for. That's right; gay sword fight. Hope to see you there!</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter Fourteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's been a week now since Striga and Morana began properly courting.</p>
<p>Much has remained the same over the last three days, since Striga last took note of it; Lenore was still the only other person that knew, and Striga and Morana still made efforts to meet when they could -which had been made somewhat difficult, as, according to Morana, Carmilla was planning some sort of <em>thing</em> to celebrate the upcoming New Year. The only thing out of place, it seemed, is that the hunger to kiss Morana from those few nights ago had not changed -if anything it grew. However, there had yet to be what Striga felt was the right time to indulge it -interruptions, too great a space between them, distractions, <em>sunrise</em>, countless things that kept getting in the way.</p>
<p>Part of her feels there is a <em>moment</em> for such things. Is it not important enough to deserve a little reverence, an <em>occasion</em>? For the first one, at least, because that was the one meant to be remembered, wasn't it? The one to which all the rest were measured?</p>
<p><em>What the hell do I know?</em> Striga often thinks, though not in resentment. It is simply an inquiry that feels as natural as breathing used to be. Because she really didn't know much of anything about these things, even after all she feels she has learned in the last week.</p>
<p>On the other hand, there were other things she <em>did</em> know, things she had learned in her long years with the military, be it Styria's or elsewhere. One of which being that you couldn't always wait for the right moment, sometimes you had to <em>make</em> it. It is a philosophy that had served her well rather often in the past, and she is certainly inclined to make use of it again. But how? She keeps the notion in the back of her mind, concealed like an armed trap as she goes about her nightly routine.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Down in the main courtyard, Striga stands near the center of it, waiting for Taubert, and with thoughtless yet meticulous care she makes sure her bracers and gloves fit the way they should, the way she likes them to. The sound of footsteps draws her thready attention the instant her ears key into it, her head reflexively snapping to look in the direction they are coming from. She first recognizes Taubert, primarily because she simply didn't recognize the general appearance of whoever is walking with her, but then her eyes focus on the other and it feels like the world stops turning for a moment.</p>
<p>Surely that is Morana, but she is nigh on unrecognizable dressed as she is. She wears no jewelry save for the signet ring in her ear, no cosmetics on her face, and her hair is tied back in an immaculate bun. Instead of her usual gowns or robes, she wears a shockingly simple silk shirt, the laces at the collar loosely tied yet pulled apart, and while Striga hasn't the slightest idea what material her sister's trousers are made from, she can see that they are impossibly tight while still appearing comfortable, like they're poured on. Lastly, in place of Morana's usually delicate looking heeled shoes, she wears boots that reach her knees and look more suitable for an evening in the saddle.</p>
<p>"Why, general, are you all right? You look like you've seen a ghost."</p>
<p>Striga shakes her head at Morana's voice, caught of guard by it and how close she suddenly is. Had she just been gawking at her this whole time? "My apologies." she sputters and clears her throat. "I'm just...curious as to what you're doing here. Did you need something?"</p>
<p>"Actually," Morana grins in a curious way, "I was wondering if you would be agreeable to a...test, if you will. I'd like to see just how well you've been absorbing Taubert's instruction."</p>
<p>Striga's brows rise. "Oh, well...not that I am against it, but I'm fairly certain you see well enough from where you sit and watch our sessions."</p>
<p>"True, but I would very much like to experience it for myself. Provided you are comfortable with that."</p>
<p>Now Striga's brows are uneven, curious, even intrigued as she looks Morana over again and notices the belt around her waist and the hilt of a blade at her hip. How had she missed that? "My lady wields a sword? Even with such finely kept claws?"</p>
<p>"Indeed. Though, while I hesitate to claim I am an expert," Morana can't help but laugh, "I can hold my own well enough."</p>
<p>Striga sports her own sort of smile, one laced with a touch of uncertainty as her eyes shift from Morana to Taubert who seems perfectly content to allow this. When she looks back at Morana, studies her briefly, Striga can't help but let her curiosity get the better of her.</p>
<p>"Very well. What is the win condition?"</p>
<p>"Would being disarmed suffice?" she meets Striga's nod with one of her own. "Rules otherwise?"</p>
<p>"No fangs, no claws-,"</p>
<p>"No furniture,"</p>
<p>Striga pauses to chuckle, "And no magic. Does that satisfy you?"</p>
<p>"Am I still able to use my off hand?" she watches her nod again and answers in kind. "Then I am satisfied."</p>
<p>"Very well. By your leave, my lady."</p>
<p>"Excellent." Morana's smile is full of teeth. "Now I expect you not to hold back because you're afraid of hurting me, general. I'm a big girl, after all."</p>
<p>"Likewise, and I look forward to seeing just how big you think you are." Striga is grinning too, and when Morana meets her eyes, she winks.</p>
<p>Taubert retreats, but not too far as she is <em>thoroughly</em> interested in seeing this play out, giving the sisters ample room. Morana moves in the opposite direction as the captain, coming to stand a respectable distance across from Striga. She draws her blade, catching the way Striga's eyes focus on it, on the glint of curved steel in waxing moonlight and the way her slit pupils broaden.</p>
<p>"A saber?"</p>
<p>"Yes, they are much more common where I am from. I took this one as a trophy from a very, <em>very</em> unfortunate vampire hunter. It's old, but I've taken good care of it."</p>
<p>"So I see." Interest flashes in Striga's eyes, albeit briefly, long enough to indulge the vision of Morana destroying a man. "Would you prefer I use one as well?" Striga isn't unaccustomed to it, having wielded one as a mark of rank with the Mongols.</p>
<p>"Not at all, I appreciate the challenge. But whatever suits your comfort, general."</p>
<p>Striga only nods, accepting the matter as it is while drawing her longsword. Part of her is anxious, primarily because she doesn't know what sort of opponent Morana will be. Striga knows herself to be a sometimes ruthless creature, even for the sake of practice, and she can't help but fret over her lady's safety. Still...as Morana said, she was a grown woman and could pick battles for herself.</p>
<p>Striga decides to make an effort to end this quickly, lessen the chance of something regrettable happening. And she is confident that she can, seeing as she <em>is</em> an expert, and knows the intricacies of countless weapons and their intended use -how they are most effective. A longsword is an excellent, general use blade, and only expounds on Striga's already incredible reach. But, by the same token, even though a saber is meant for closer quarters, up close and personal is where Striga loses the advantage. She will reflexively resort to possibly less-than-honorable means to disarm Morana.</p>
<p><em>She </em> is <em> a grown woman. She made her choice. And she </em> explicitly <em> told you not to hold back.</em></p>
<p>So be it.</p>
<p>Fairly certain they are both ready to begin, Morana offers a respectful bow, one that Striga returns though she isn't used to such a formal thing. Then, in the blink of an eye and a rush of frigid night air, Morana closes the gap between them in a burst of supernatural speed and grace.</p>
<p>It's enough to make Striga recoil, eyes flying wide and her body working purely on reflex as she quickly tucks in her arms and starts to backpedal. Her thoughts are quick enough to decipher that Morana is deliberately trying to box her in with sweeping, upward swipes of the saber, swings that Striga is <em>just</em> able to avoid. The first time she actually deflects with her own sword, there is the crash of metal and a shower of sparks, the impact radiating up her arm and almost painful. Almost. Striga holds against her, the hilts of their blades twisted together, steel screeching under the pressure, and then chances to put distance between them with a quick but hard lunge with her shoulder. This gives Striga enough space and time to adjust, turning the longsword over in her hand so the blade now follows the line of her arm.</p>
<p>Morana is frighteningly quick to close the gap again, knowing she needed to keep quarters tight. She easily slips beneath a horizontal swing, well aware that with Striga's strength and the stability of a western longsword would be more than enough to destroy the saber if met head on. However, to a point, she would need to do just that if she meant to disarm Striga. But she wanted this to be interesting. To be more truthful, she wanted to <em>impress</em> Striga, so a simple solution simply wouldn't do. So her next move isn't in consideration of the easy, most logical answer, it's in the spirit of drawing this out, and she mimics Striga's previous move to give her larger sister a good firm shove, centered in the small of Striga's back. She's ready when Striga whips around, sporting a devilish, daring grin.</p>
<p>This time Striga is the one to shrink the distance. Holding her sword this way reduced her reach and leverage considerably, but it made her more mobile up close, so now she can hold even ground with the saber at the very least. If the circumstances were any different, were she anywhere but in the thick of this, Striga would find Morana's swift movements breathtaking. Striga can't even touch her as she twists away in impossible instants like a thread of smoke, impressive even for a vampire. For every ounce of brute strength Striga possessed, Morana matched it with pure finesse, and it is nothing short of a marvel to witness first hand. It's almost a distraction...</p>
<p>Which Morana <em>must</em> have sensed, as she quickly dips out of sight, ducking under Striga's arm and around behind her. Keeping up the momentum, Morana hooks Striga's belt with her off hand and twists hard with all of her strength. It's enough to lift Striga off her feet and send her flying, though not <em>too </em> far, and Striga manages to save herself from the embarrassment of a fall as she catches herself with a collection of backwards steps. Morana <em>loves</em> the mixture of shock and almost predatory interest shimmering in those bright green eyes.</p>
<p>"<em>I hope this isn't your idea of a challenge, general</em> ," Morana says in Slavic, smiling. " <em>I'm afraid it leaves much to be desired</em>."</p>
<p>The surprise on Striga's face morphs into a determined smirk. "<em>I was only trying to be polite</em>."</p>
<p>"<em>Come now, sister,</em> " Morana's eyes thin and she raises her blade, both shining in the light of the moon. " <em>Show me the woman who commands armies</em>,"</p>
<p>Striga's brows level and lower over her eyes, and her smirk widens. "<em>As you wish, my lady</em>."</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>Above the courtyards, in one of the palace's outer breezeways, Lenore and Carmilla walk together, Lenore listening while Carmilla talks. They had been spending the last little while discussing potentialities for the guest list of Carmilla's budding New Year gathering, which would have been relegated to the council chamber -one of their personal chambers at the very least- had Carmilla not the penchant for wandering around when she was on a tangent. Lenore does her best to keep up with everything as Carmilla seems to drop every spare thought she has on the matter on Lenore's consideration, not nearly the effort one might think until her keen vampire ears latch onto a metallic crash from below. The combination of her innate predatory nature as well as her own personal nosiness demands Lenore investigate, even if it's just a glance. Though it turns out she gives it more than that.</p>
<p>Carmilla must have heard it as well, as she chances to turn her head, but made no physical sign of stopping until she realized Lenore had paused. With her brow knit in a curious but visibly displeased way, Carmilla retraces her last few steps to stand beside Lenore, mimicking her posture as she leans against the carved stone railing to look down into the courtyard below. Together they take in the scene unfolding down there, one of Carmilla's platinum brows rising at a sharp angle, the curiosity starting to overtake the displeasure.</p>
<p>"What on earth are they doing?" Carmilla sees very well, as all vampires could even at a distance. "I don't believe I've seen Morana lift a sword in years,"</p>
<p>Lenore is smiling, mostly to herself and in a self satisfied and whimsical way. "It looks like they're having fun." if one could consider second-by-second flashes of sparks fun. "I can only begin to imagine the general's shock."</p>
<p>"True enough," Carmilla cuts an enthusiastic grin, taking a step closer to Lenore and bracing herself on her elbows. Seconds tick by with silence between them, both seeming fully engrossed in the distant display. Though, little by little, Carmilla's amusement starts to wane and steadily twist back towards interest. "Are you <em>certain</em> there's nothing going on between them?"</p>
<p>"When did I say there wasn't?"</p>
<p>"When all of you were riding my ass over dinner last week."</p>
<p>Lenore keeps her eyes trained downward and sighs. "We were riding your ass because of your suggestion that we should manipulate each other's feelings. There was never a discussion regarding them having an actual relationship."</p>
<p>Carmilla thinks a moment, icy eyes narrowing on her sister. "So <em>are </em>they?"</p>
<p>"I'm not in a position to say." Lenore answers frankly.</p>
<p>"If the answer was no, you would simply say so."</p>
<p>Lenore side eyes her for a short moment, sneering a little at Carmilla's smug tone. "I meant what I said. Not that it is any of our business, in any case."</p>
<p>"You're a hell of a one to talk about minding your own business." Carmilla chuckles, but, in a way, she also concedes. She knows Lenore well enough to know when she has no intention of talking. She takes a moment to look back down into the courtyard again, still with a noticeable smirk, then, "Care to make a wager?"</p>
<p>Lenore grins. "Couldn't hurt. I'll put a gold piece on Morana."</p>
<p>"Rude." Carmilla scoffs, albeit with an air of playfulness, as she head meant to do the same.</p>
<p>"A queen, most of all, should support her generals." Lenore's smile has widened, sharpened, turned felid. Not that winning matters, but seeing Carmilla squirm does.</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>Morana is an <em>exceptional</em> challenge, and Striga is certain to admit as much once this is over, but that thought is situated near the very back of her mind, behind the storm of reflexes and split-second adjustments and the sheer thrill of going toe-to-toe with a truly capable opponent. Her heart hammers behind her sternum, her whole body throbbing with its thunderous pulse, and sweat is actually rolling across her skin; she has to make a <em>real</em> <em>effort</em> to keep hold of the half-second advantage she feels she has on Morana. However, even with that, Striga has found herself doing little more than meeting Morana in the middle and simply holding ground. She knows she needs to get that saber out of those smaller, surprisingly powerful hands, but this is almost...too much fun to end.</p>
<p>And a part of her can't help but wonder if Morana was somehow making a game out of this -her tone before had certainly suggested it, but Striga hadn't expected her to follow through.</p>
<p>Striga thought she had her once, cracking the pommel of her sword against Morana's hand on a stray swing. Her hand had released, the saber about to tumble to the flagstones, but her reflexes were far too well honed, and Morana easily snatched it with her off hand and redoubled her efforts. Striga tried again, knowing she would eventually try to switch hands -she was right handed, Striga noticed- and thinking it a simple matter of disrupting the adjustment. A lunge that Striga intentionally sells short, that Morana stops by grabbing Striga's blade with her bare hand in the instant the saber left it to be caught by her dominant hand.</p>
<p>Morana sees the shock in Striga's face and knows it's her chance. With her hand still firmly clutched around the end of the broadsword, she takes a big, hopping step back, pulling Striga much farther than she intended to go and disrupting her center of gravity. Both her boots have left the ground in the reflexive motion of stumbling forward. Just as Morana's feet touch down she is pushing off again, this time rushing forward and taking the broadsword with her, pushing up and forward on the blade. Striga's wrist is forced to the limit of its range, her grip instinctively loosening so the joint doesn't snap, and her sword slips free before her face smacks cold flagstones. Striga is quick to flip over, but no so much to stand up again. She lays there for now, chest heaving and a hand against her face, pushing strands of hair back from her damp forehead. She's smiling like a fool. Is Taubert applauding?</p>
<p>Morana is quick to recognize that the matter is finished and smoothly sheathes her saber, she then tucks the broadsword beneath her arm and almost strolls to where Striga still lay. Seeing her smiling like that, almost laughing even, stills the little worry Morana had that perhaps she had gone too far, so she is content to simply look down at her, her arms crossed.</p>
<p>"<em>My god, you fucking marvelous woman</em>," Striga chuckles, still in Slavic, knowing Morana is there though her hand shields her from view. Then she laughs from the belly and drops her hand, looking up at Morana with bright eyes, the pupils blown wide.</p>
<p>Morana feels her heart clench, not just from the reckless compliment, but seeing Striga like this, sweating, on her back with her chest heaving steadily, is sending her thoughts in a wholly different direction than she means for them to be going at present. In an attempt to cover it up, ready to explain away the darkness in her cheeks as simple exertion, she bends down, perched on the heels of her boots. "Are you all right, general? How fares your pride?"</p>
<p>"<em>Pride</em>?" Still smiling, her brows jumping upward, Striga props herself on her elbows. "My sister shows me, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that her blade is just as cunning as her mind, and you think you've hurt my pride? You could have thrown me face first into a pile of shit and I would still be in awe of you."</p>
<p>Morana smiles, tucking her chin as if to try and hide it. Old habit. "You flatter me."</p>
<p>"The hell I do! It is the truth, and you deserve to hear it."</p>
<p>"And you deserve to be back on your feet." And Morana extends her hand, which Striga is quick to take and follow when she stands and pulls her up. "And your sword, general,"</p>
<p>Striga takes it carefully and with a nod of thanks, quickly sliding the blade back into its sheathe. "I am truly impressed with your abilities, my lady. I must know who taught you to fight like that."</p>
<p>"The caliph was keen to protect his assets, so all of us had access to the best teachers. Mind you, that was some centuries ago, but I've made an effort to at least keep my skills in useable condition. Though I refuse to think your presumptions of me didn't play a hand in this."</p>
<p>"Perhaps, but all the more shame on me, I suppose. Had I indeed underestimated you, then I surely deserved the loss." Although she isn't entirely sure she had, though certainly not consciously if at all. "Though I can't help but wonder if I had given you the challenge you hoped for?"</p>
<p>"It was certainly entertaining." and while her tone sounds sarcastic, her smile is genuine. "And I can see that Taubert is doing fine work with you, though you have some ways to go yet."</p>
<p>"Alright, <em>now</em> my pride is hurt." though you wouldn't think it by the way she laughs immediately after saying so.</p>
<p>"I only want what is best for you, general, so I am afraid I must be realistic with my critiques. Though I have no doubt you are capable of shouldering my appraisals with all the grace and humility I know you possess."</p>
<p>Striga chuffs. "Which I would love to discuss <em>after</em> I have had a bath." Looking down to assess her current state, she is visibly shocked to find dark spots of sweat has collected in her tunic.</p>
<p>"Oh, likewise." Morana nods in enthusiastic agreement. "With that being said, I believe I'll excuse myself to see to that." then her language changes suddenly, "<em>Don't miss me too much, hm</em>?"</p>
<p>Striga cocks an eyebrow. "<em>Only every other moment, my lady</em> . <em>Shall I join you once I am fit for company again</em>?"</p>
<p>"<em>By all means</em>." Morana smiles an easy, fanged smile and starts to walk away, towards the palace, not knowing that Striga's gaze hangs on her until she is out of sight.</p>
<p>Striga finally breaks away only to catch the eyes of Taubert, who still lingers across the yard. She is casting an amused, knowing look, with one tawny brow peaked and her head cocked to the side. The general's response was a wordless, bodily gesture that essential conveyed <em>what do you want from me?</em> before she laughs to herself and goes off to fetch her horse. Taubert only shakes her head and laughs to herself, going about her business as usual.</p>
<p>Striga will spend a little extra time on the range, long enough to stop swearing under her breath every time she misses the target. Gathering up all the arrows she rides her horse hard and fast back up to the palace, seemingly with tunnel vision fixed on the castle. Now that she isn't trying to aim a bow, her thoughts don't so much scatter as they barrel around a singular notion: <em>Morana</em> . It's only marginally unsettling just how impossible it is for Striga to think of anything else - <em>never</em> has it been like this over another person. <em>Never</em> . Something in her <em>aches</em> , her heart <em>hungers</em> , and her hands feel <em>empty</em>. Is this normal?</p>
<p>These feelings, the circling thoughts almost haunt her the entire time Striga is occupying herself with cleaning up. She cannot find the usual empty-headed peace that she often indulges in while bathing, even as she puts her head under the water and blocks out the world for several minutes. The world simply collapses as water fills her ears, leaving a dull hum surrounding the idea of <em>Morana</em> like the echoes of church bells in the night that out-sing her thrumming heart.</p>
<p>
  <em>Morana looked....majestic tonight. She's so strong, I almost don't believe it even now. God forbid I ever make assumptions about anything ever again.</em>
</p>
<p>She smiles to herself, but is otherwise motionless.</p>
<p>
  <em>Morana with a blade in her hand is easily one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. And those pants...how did she even get them on?</em>
</p>
<p>And now all she can think about is Morana's body and how it looked in those clothes and what it might look like <em>without </em> them. Initially she feels a bit guilty, like it isn't right to think of Morana this way...but isn't it? They're courting, Morana has expressed certain, similar desires, so why would it be wrong to have them for herself? She considers perhaps it isn't the nature of them that creates the conflict in her mind as much as their sudden appearance. Striga had never felt or thought this way about anyone before. It's new and different but beautiful and fascinating and...those <em>pants</em>.</p>
<p>And her hands and her eyes and her fanged smile and the tendons in her neck -<em>oh her neck</em>- and...and...</p>
<p>There's a dull but heavy pulse below her navel.</p>
<p>Still beneath the surface of the water, Striga covers her face with both hands as she straightens and emerges, water bubbling out of her ears. She stretches, muscles in her chest and arms bulging, in her neck when she lets her head drop back as far as it can. For a moment she simply hangs over the lip of the tub, the gravity tugging on her body not nearly as heavily as her thoughts on her mind. She takes a deep, slow, chest-filling breath, stretching again, all ten fingers reaching and then suddenly curling as she exhales with enough force to pop every knuckle. Striga is aware of the tangible emptiness in her hands again, and the notion mingles with the only other thought she can decipher.</p>
<p>
  <em>I want to touch Morana.</em>
</p>
<p>Yes, that's it. That's <em>exactly</em> what she wants, but not in what she would consider the usual way. She doesn't know the word to describe how she wants to touch her at present. And it's something she analyzes to death as she hastily dries off and dresses. She still doesn't know what to call it when she leaves her chambers.</p>
<p>A part of Striga is grateful that she doesn't have to wait long for Morana to grant her entrance to her room, feeling a weird anxiety. Coming in and closing the door, Striga does a habitual scan of the room; there's a tray of food and pitchers of blood on the table, initially grabbing her attention as she feels her thirst spike.</p>
<p>"Help yourself if you like, Striga, I will join you in a moment."</p>
<p>Morana's voice is just able to wrestle Striga's eyes away from the crimson filled pitcher on the table, and Striga almost walks into the table as her gaze is fixed on Morana. Striga only averts her eyes long enough to pluck up a glass and fill it, quickly emptying it only to fill it again. Then she's watching Morana again as she seems to just casually move about the room, eventually settling at her desk. Part of Striga briefly resents what she's wearing -that blue kaftan obscures her figure <em>far</em> too much- but it doesn't stop her from staring. Her neck is still in plain view, only partly hidden when she pulls the towel from her still damp hair. Striga quickly downs her second glass of blood and starts all but stalking towards her.</p>
<p>Morana plainly hears Striga's heavy boots, her heart fluttering when she realizes they are drawing close.</p>
<p>By the time Striga has come to stand behind Morana's chair, looming over her, Morana has begun to run an ivory comb through her hair, methodical in her strokes. Striga is still watching her, unknowing how wide her pupils are, in a way mesmerized by the steady motions of Morana's hands. Her hair looks almost black with moisture, glossy in the light of the lightning glass. Striga's bottom lip tucks between her teeth as she contemplates the notions that had followed her all the way here. Her better judgment tells her she shouldn't interrupt, but she <em>really</em> wants to. Striga decides it would be better to apologize than to bear this urge any longer.</p>
<p>Morana pauses at the feeling of big, callused and smooth hands coming to rest on her shoulders, and smiles to herself at the delightful tingle that erupts from the soft pressure of Striga's thumbs at the base of her neck. After a moment, mindful of Striga's hands, she continues to push the comb through her hair with the intent of gathering it over her shoulder.</p>
<p>"I was starting to wonder if I had tired you out." Morana says softly, softer than usual and with an audible grin. "Did you stop to take a quick nap?"</p>
<p>"Hmm." Striga smirks, eyes still boring into the top of Morana's head. "Lost in my thoughts is all."</p>
<p>"And what were you thinking about?"</p>
<p>"...You."</p>
<p>Morana's heart clenches with delight, a touch of blood flushing her cheeks.</p>
<p>"You left me terribly impressed." she flexes her fingers just a little, enough to make impressions in the fabric that adorns the outer bends of Morana's shoulders. "But...not only with your obvious skill, I must admit."</p>
<p>"Indeed?" Her heart is beating steadily, quickly, but she seems perfectly calm as she sets down the comb and picks up the little silk ribbon that had been on the desk. She ties it in a neat bow just above where the ends of her hair curls. "I'm afraid you've piqued my curiosity. I can't imagine what else might hold your focus to such a degree."</p>
<p>"I have a feeling that you can." Striga tightens her grip a little more, her thumbs pushing inward. She feels the dull vibration of Morana's voice as she hums in reaction to the pressure. "As I have said before, you are a beautiful woman, Morana, and tonight, I believe I was given a glimpse of another facet of that beauty...one I hadn't expected to find."</p>
<p>"It won't be the first time I have surprised someone."</p>
<p>"Perhaps," Striga lifts one hand, turning it over to run the backs of her fingers across her hair, following the grain. "But you deserve better than to be underestimated, least of all by me. You have made it abundantly clear that you deserve no less than my utmost respect."</p>
<p>"Good to know." Morana almost stuttered, feeling a delicious buzz erupting across her scalp from Striga's tender touch that threatens to trip her tongue. The feeling intensifies as Striga's hand sinks from her hair to her neck, the thick round of her knuckles following her spine, and she can't stop the little gasp that escapes.</p>
<p>Striga must have heard it -<em>must have</em>- as she then asks "Does that feel good?" and it's just above a whisper.</p>
<p>"It does." no hesitation, but no strength either. "You have such gentle hands."</p>
<p>Striga takes a breath in through her nose, her head filling with jasmine and old books and <em>Morana</em>. There is also the notion of how strange it is to receive such a compliment, almost as strange as the warmth it made blossom behind her ribs. How on earth does Morana know all the things to say that, at the same time, Striga has never heard before but always wanted to hear?</p>
<p>Striga thinks and thinks and <em>wants</em> and thinks some more...</p>
<p>Morana's skin is flawless, cool -not <em>cold</em> - and soft and, for lack of a better word, irresistibly <em>touchable</em> ; even this little contact is doing something to sate Striga's craving, but it just isn't <em>enough</em>.</p>
<p>The hand that had been tracing along Morana's neck opens, the fingers filed together as Striga turns her palm and cups the right side of Morana's neck just below her ear and beneath her gathered hair. Her thumb nestles just beneath the tender lobe of Morana's ear, her other fingers more than long enough to line the edge of her jaw and curl along the column of her throat. No pressure, no suggestion of such an intent, simply feeling for its own sake. Morana's pulse flutters against Striga's palm, and Striga marvels at the feeling of her swallowing.</p>
<p>"Is this all right?" Striga whispers.</p>
<p>"Yes." Morana exhales. Her eyes are closed and she is terribly tempted to simply go limp, allow whatever is meant to happen to happen. Surrender is suddenly such a <em>beautiful</em> word, and the feeling of that powerful hand on her throat is positively electric. "Quite all right."</p>
<p>"Hmm." Striga nods above her. "How is your hand?"</p>
<p>"Hm?"</p>
<p>"You stopped a blade, I cannot help but worry, even for you. <em>Especially</em> for you." And for a moment, Striga reflects, comprehending just how shocked she is at herself. When did she become so soft? Where was this tenderness coming from? "Show me."</p>
<p>It takes some doing, her consciousness clouded from sweet contact, but Morana eventually raises her hand, palm presented. "You see? I am unhurt."</p>
<p>"Good." And it's a genuine, relieved response. The idea of ever causing Morana harm, unwillingly or otherwise, makes Striga's heart skip. Without a thought, her other hand lifts from Morana's shoulder and eases forward, her fingertips splaying across Morana's palm to slip between her fingers, her hand closing around Morana's as she is reciprocating. All Striga can see is Morana's dainty fingers and painted talons, her own hand completely overshadowing her sister's. "You really are incredible with a sword, Morana."</p>
<p>Morana feels a strange departure from the moment; such casual conversation coupled with such intimate touch, the nature of which making her think twice before speaking as some long lost prey response. Still, eventually, the words emerge, albeit unsteadily. "Likewise. I can only imagine what you must be like with the intent to kill a man."</p>
<p>"I have heard that it is quite the sight."</p>
<p>"Do you not remember?" Morana asks gently.</p>
<p>"I am used to it, it doesn't warrant remembering for the most part." Striga elaborates quickly, dismissively. "But now that you say as much, I, too, am curious as to how you would fare in a real fight."</p>
<p>"It's terribly messy business, I'm afraid, as rare as it has been. The clean up is truly tedious, I'm not fond of it." She thinks that there had been more to say, but the words vanish as she feels the grip around her throat briefly tighten, then loosen and start retreating. Still touching, but pulling back.</p>
<p>"Understandable." Now all Striga can think about is Morana spattered in blood, wide eyed with fangs bared like the creature she is -that both of them are. What a delightful, vicious vision. She feels that clench in her lower belly again. "Still, fondness or no, you are incredible."</p>
<p>"Thank you." and it sounds like a purr, and she hopes Striga felt the vibration, not knowing why.</p>
<p>An extended silence lulls between them, several minutes of no words, only touch, of laced fingers and a curious hand still lingering about Morana's neck and shoulders. Morana is quite content with the quiet, wholly enjoying her position in the matter and wholly focused on Striga's hands -not just in regards to how Striga fondles her neck, but also where <em>else</em> she would like to be touched. In fact, her whole body has started to buzz with a mixture of both satisfaction and anticipation.</p>
<p>Striga is thinking again, watching her fingertips tease Morana's hairline as her own thoughts twist together. She's feeling bold again as well, and considering how well it served her but moments ago, she doesn't see much of a need to ignore the notion now. Carefully, perhaps out of concern of startling her, Striga pulls on Morana's hand, drawing it towards her and wordlessly motioning to change the way she holds it. Morana seems to follow without hesitation, loosening the hook of her fingers so Striga can do whatever she means to do. Now Striga holds her hand by the ends of her fingers, talons safely tucked away, and pulls upward. There's a moment's hesitation, one last consideration for what may or may not happen next, and then Striga gently presses her lips against her knuckles.</p>
<p>It takes an incredible effort on Morana's part not to display the entirety of her reaction, because she knows it would be positively <em>lewd</em>. The sensation crackles through her nerves and makes her heart lurch, pressures her to make a sound that she keeps quiet by some miracle. All this she manages to relegate to a curt inhale, and her free hand curling into a tight fist, a jarring one as her own talons threaten her palm. And then, just like that, the cool, sweet pressure of Striga's lips vanishes.</p>
<p>"Was that wrong?" Striga asked quickly, an apology ready in her mind.</p>
<p>"No, no, not at all." Morana has tightened her grasp around Striga's thick fingers and shakes her head. "I would have spoken up otherwise. Please, if you wish to continue,"</p>
<p>Behind her, Striga lifts an eyebrow; she sounded so...<em>starved</em> . It doesn't seem so much that Morana was granting permission as she was all but <em>begging</em> for more.</p>
<p>That boldness surges back tenfold, the sense of Morana <em>needing</em> something she could provide having sparked it, and Striga decides to follow the notion as before. She releases Morana's hand completely, and then quickly grips the back of the chair her sister occupies to pull it away from the desk and turn it around. After a brief, thready squeak of wood crossing marble, Morana now faces her, shock lengthening her usually soft features. And the expression hardly changes as Morana watches Striga kneel in front of her, gathering up her hand again. Their eyes meet and do not break away, do not even blink as Striga lifts Morana's hand to her lips once more.</p>
<p>Striga searches her face for the answers to all the questions she can't find the words to ask. The blackness in those bright blue eyes has blown wide, impossibly wider as Striga draws away slightly, her lips now hovering near Morana's hand.</p>
<p>Morana wants to say...<em>something</em> . By <em>god</em> she wants to say so much because she is <em>feeling so much</em> and it cannot possibly be contained even within this immortal body. Morana has never been described as a religious woman, but she swears that in the sight of this kneeling knight, this creature cut from the same infernal cloth as herself that was adorned in the blood of possibly <em>thousands</em>, she can see a flickering of the divine. Something nameless and fathomless and incredible that makes her feel both horrifyingly powerless and perfectly secure.</p>
<p>In the end she will say nothing, as there are no sufficient words. Morana will raise her other hand, mindful of her claws as she eases the backs of her fingers along the hard line of Striga's cheek and feels a cool brush of air as Striga abruptly exhales until her lungs are empty. When Morana reaches the line of her jaw, her hand opens, her last three fingers curling beneath it, her index finger straight and just brushing Striga's ear, and the pad of her thumb stroking a repetitious line over the bend of Striga's resolute cheekbone. Her thumb pauses and then moves to the edge of Striga's mouth where she hesitates again. With a thoughtless curiosity she pushes her thumb to rest at the center of Striga's lips, feeling a wicked charge of sensation when she presses a brief kiss there, as if Striga understood what this was.</p>
<p>That same thoughtless curiosity takes hold of Morana again as she gently pulls her hand free of Striga's, raising it to Striga's other cheek, searching her face as she gently pulls her in and praying -actually <em>praying</em>- that this is the right thing to do. It feels right, feels natural, feels impossible to ignore any longer.</p>
<p>Striga shifts so both of her knees are supporting her, her back straightening and her waist bending in the natural progression of movement that Morana is encouraging. Her big hands drop to the arms of the chair, hands curling around them, clutching tight as Morana kisses her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="u"> Author's Note: </span> Wow. That's really all I can say. Writing those last few paragraphs felt good in a way that writing hasn't felt in a long while. Kind of humbling. Anyway, next chapter, well, you'll see. Brace yourselves. Also, I'm probably going to be back to working by week's end, so updates might not be very consistent for a while. Thanks for reading, and questions and comments are always welcome.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter Fifteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Morana's heart races and there is a trembling building in her body, and she is doing everything she can to keep the shakes out of her hands. But, beyond that seemingly little worry, she feels the silky softness of Striga's hair between her fingers, her soft skin and the bends of her cheekbones beneath her palms, and the delightfully plush press of her lips. Morana had expected a certain timidity, from both sides, but this kiss feels strangely relaxed, almost confident. Striga feels stable but not <em>tense</em>, and Morana senses no intention of her wanting to make a break for it. Which is monumentally reassuring, even as she feels the tangible pressure of Striga's much greater frame surrounding her.</p><p>There's no knowing how much time passes, and neither of them really appear to mind.</p><p>Morana takes the burden of separation upon herself, gently pulling away only a few inches but leaving her hands where they are, her eyes opening soon enough to catch the little forward motion Striga makes as if to chase after her. They look at one another now, saying nothing, searching each other for something. Striga's face is unreadable, though there's a visible pinkness to her cheeks and a wideness to her eyes to match the expanded darkness of her pupils. Morana allows a smile to steadily reveal her fangs.</p><p>Striga takes a slow, quiet breath in and out. "Can I confess something to you?" It's a whisper, but more than enough for a vampire to hear.</p><p>"By all means."</p><p>"I have been wanting to do that for days." a subtle sense of awe flickers across her face, as if saying as much out loud suddenly made it real. "But I didn't know how to,"</p><p>A little, breathy chuckle as elation blossoms in Morana's heart. "I think you did just fine."</p><p>Striga blinks, swallows. "I should have asked, shouldn't I?"</p><p>"M-myself as well, actually." <em>Mercy, </em> don't <em> stutter...</em></p><p>A tense pause, both of them gently fretting without showing it.</p><p>"...May I kiss you again?" Striga asks. In her own head she sounds so desperate without understanding how or why, and is far from caring.</p><p>"Please,"</p><p>Somehow Striga manages to pry her hands off the arms of the chair, chancing to circle Morana's waist, fingertips nearly touching over the small of her back. This time Morana is tangibly pulling her in, those talons prickling her scalp with pressure. But it feels <em>good</em> , all of this feels good in a way Striga has never experienced before; she has never kissed anyone, or held anyone this way, or... <em>any</em> of this. She feels Morana hum against her mouth and her entire body shivers, gooseflesh rising from head to toe as her mind goes blank. The whole world feels like it's collapsing around them, like they are the beginning and the end of everything.</p><p>Morana feels her heart <em>singing</em>. Her pulse thrums, pounds in her ears, roaring as she finally moves her hands back, back, and circles her arms around Striga's neck. Striga makes a curious sound and Morana smiles against her mouth. She tightens her embrace about Striga's neck, one hand cupping her big shoulder at the same time as Striga's hold on her waist changes and cinches. Striga pulls her, her body starting to slide towards the edge of the seat, and Morana squeaks in her throat at the possibility of being pulled to the floor. But she doesn't fall, held too tightly, and all her weight shifts to brace against Striga. Morana reflexively bends her knees, keeping her feet up.</p><p>If simply kissing Morana is sweet, holding her, bearing every last ounce of her weight, feels...what is it called? Striga would have to ask, because she doesn't know, but not until she has had her fill of...whatever this is. Even if it takes all night.</p><p>But it doesn't. Morana will be the one to pull away again, quietly panting though her body doesn't need it. Her cheeks are still dark with blood and a smile still lingers on her mouth, and though she loosens her hold about Striga's neck, she won't remove her hands, instead perching them on the slope of her shoulders. She loves the crush of Striga's grip around her, part of her wanting to say <em>tighter</em> until she felt her bones cavitate, but she can't find the words. Not when there are so, <em>so</em> many trying to fall out of her at once.</p><p>"I," Striga strings the sound along, eyes glossy with a slight daze as she tries to find the thought that had just slipped away, "I...I-I didn't mean to...your chair,"</p><p>"Then put me back in it." Morana laughs, having no doubt that her sister could certainly do it.</p><p>"O-of course." Lifting her is effortless, Striga's big hands circling her waist again, performing her last few motions in reverse to put Morana back where she had been. All the while they're both smiling at each other, laughing nervously for a second. "I...I don't know what else to say. I've...never done that."</p><p>Morana now sits in a perfectly prim and proper way, legs crossed and hands in her lap. "Not ever? Not even once?"</p><p>"No." Striga looks away, shaking her head as she settles back on her heels. "No one...I've never wanted to before." At that admission, Striga expects her to laugh, or cringe, or a number of other possibly disheartening things, but that isn't what happens. What she sees is the pale blue of Morana's eyes suddenly brightening in an uncanny way, unusual even for a vampire, and the entire setting of her eyes changes. Is that...what is that? Some sort of...wonder?</p><p>It is wonder, actually. Wonder at being Striga's first, even with something as seemingly tame as a kiss, wonder mixed with a vain, selfish satisfaction. Then that brightness in her eyes dims -in intensity, not intent or presence- and she's smiling again, fangs and dimples unashamedly on display. "Do you approve?"</p><p>"I...well," Striga wasn't expecting that question, nervously pawing at the back of her own neck as her eyes keep going back and forth between Morana and other parts of the room. "...Suppose I do. It's still new to me. I don't know what a poor kiss feels like."</p><p>"Forgive me if I don't show you."</p><p>Striga lilts her head and inches her shoulders. "And what is your opinion, my lady?"</p><p>"It was delightful." no hesitation, but just a touch of shyness as her hands twist together in her lap. "I can't wait to do it again."</p><p>One sable brow cocks up, Striga's head tilting curiously. "You're serious?"</p><p>"Is it so hard to believe?" though she knows the answer before she even finishes the question. And, in a way, she understands. It had taken Morana years to believe that these things were real and that she was just as deserving of them as anyone; the shattering revelation of being desired by another woman had been just that, <em>shattering</em>.</p><p>"I...imagine I have been around for quite some time, and in all those years, however many they may be, this has never happened. I hope you would excuse my skepticism, as it isn't personal."</p><p>"Of course, my apologies." Morana nods, her smile withdrawing slightly. "In any case, perhaps it is time you get off you knees, hm?" She offers a hand to her sister, and they both stand up after Striga takes it, nevermind that Striga doesn't need it.</p><p>Striga keeps hold of her hand a moment longer, simply because she wants to and likes the way Morana smiles at her. The jitters of what just happened between them dissipates in degrees but never really leaves, they keep casting eyes at one another as they lull into a conversation as to how they should spend the remainder of their evening after having a seat at the common table to eat. It takes every ounce of self control Morana has not to ask that they simply lie in bed and kiss for the rest of the night, something made all the more difficult when she senses that Striga might not have been too hard to convince.</p><p>In the end they decide to sit at the <em>shatranj</em> board; they had forgotten whose turn it was, so they start a new game. It easily gnaws through the remaining hours of the night solely because it takes either of them ages to make a move. Both of them have their minds split between actually focusing on the board and their unfolding strategies, and each other. Smirks and glances stretch back and forth, time vanishing in the glint of eyes and fangs and spurts of smitten laughter. Either side hardly makes any real progress before sunlight starts peaking beneath the curtains and Striga yawns behind her hand for the last time.</p><p>Morana will walk with her to the door. "Might I kiss you good morning?"</p><p>Striga looks at her, her face turned in a mixture of fatigue and amusement. "If it pleases you."</p><p>Morana rises to the balls of her feet, her hands going flat against Striga's chest -she loves the feeling of firm musculature beneath her clothes- and feels a thrilling charge in her heart at Striga's hand carefully lifting her chin. The kiss is unhurried, lacking the jittery heat of the first, but it is no less pleasurable.</p><p>"Good morning, my lady." Striga whispers when they part.</p><p>Morana seems to drift in the afterglow before her eyes blink wide with realization. "Oh, I almost forgot, you received another letter."</p><p>Suddenly Striga feels very much awake, and her body washes colder than it should as she watches Morana hurry back to her desk and return with a folded page of parchment in her hand, the red wax seal seeming to glare up at her when Striga takes it. The way Striga scowls down at the missive is not lost on Morana, not at all.</p><p>"What's wrong?"</p><p>"N-nothing, nothing," it's the best lie she can come up with on such short notice and with a need to sleep hanging on her mind. "Thank you, I will see to it first thing tonight."</p><p>"I trust you will." Morana doesn't feel convinced, though she hopes it doesn't show. Now isn't the time to pry. "Good morning, Striga."</p><p>"Good morning, Morana." She likes the sound of that, forgetting about the letter altogether as she bends down for one last kiss, a brief press to Morana's forehead. She doesn't stay long enough to see Morana's reaction, but hopes it made her smile.</p><p>She certainly is smiling, all the way to bed and into her pillows as she buries her face in them, trying to muffle her sounds of joy for a reason she cannot define.</p><p> </p><p>Striga waits to return to her room before reading the letter, anxiety starting to creep up on her from the second Morana's door closes behind her. Her walk back to her apartment isn't hurried but it's far from slow, far from relaxed. There is purpose in her steps and an obvious tension in her body that anyone could see, even at a distance.</p><p>She knows she closes her own door with more force than she needs to, twists the lock into place harder than was necessary, but she had to get the stress out. Striga will drop the missive on the common table, a second later grabbing up one of her small knives and hurling it at the barricade. She weighs how that felt, wondering if that satisfaction was enough to work away at the tightness in her chest, but it isn't. She moves on, heading to her desk, her brow sore from scowling all this time as she hones in on the coin sitting there. Rolling it across her knuckles she starts to pace; yes, it's early, and she is <em>tired</em>, but there is no chance in hell that she could sleep right now.</p><p>Eventually Striga will find it in her to sit down, dropping carelessly into a chair at the common table and plucking up the missive. Part of her already knows who it's from and what it likely says, and she isn't wrong.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>General,</em>
</p><p>
  <em> The morning following the send off of my last report, I came to find four more missing, some of your nightwalkers among them this time. Still can't find anything as to what or how this is happening and the men are getting spooked. I don't think they'll boot me over it, but I've got to do something about this or I couldn't tell you what will come of it. I'm not scared -never have been, never will be- but I certainly could use your guidance on the matter. And some extra hands if you can swing that far. Whatever you're able to do, I'd encourage you to do it as soon as possible.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Commander Welsh</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Striga reads it over several times, each pass making it easier for Welsh's voice to echo with increasing clarity. After a moment she sets the letter down, hunching forward in the chair to rest her elbows atop her thighs and her chin against her folded hands. She tries to focus on the hard disk of gold tucked against her palm, her thoughts threatening to pull apart if she didn't.</p><p><em>I'll speak to Carmilla first thing tonight.</em> Yes, something decisive that sates her need for action, for control. True, she will still have to wait until sundown, but there was a plan, and that's what she needed to calm her nerves.</p><p>Still, sleep does not come easily or stay long.</p><p>---</p><p>Morana is quick to wake and go through her evening routine, meaning to power through the lingering work she has before her in order to clear out her schedule for the rest of the night. She frets possibly having to miss Striga's training, but, by the same token, she doesn't think that there would be much likelihood of kissing her again out in the open. Thinking about last night, Morana often catches herself smiling as she works.</p><p>She completes several projects before deciding that the handful of matters that now remain can wait, a ledger clapping shut before she stands up from her desk. Morana steadily, unconsciously quickens her pace to cross the room, her eagerness to reach the door manifesting. She almost jumps, startled when she pulls the door open and stops just before she walks into Striga.</p><p>Striga looks surprised, but the only evidence of it is in her eyes, though only her eyes, as her face remains as plain as ever. Her hand lingers in the air, knuckles turned out as if she had been in the middle knocking when Morana had opened the door. She looks at Morana briefly, face unchanging, and then lowers her hand to tuck behind her back with the other.</p><p>Morana chuckles and apologizes and steps back, gesturing with her hand to welcome Striga inside. Only now that she has had a chance to focus on her, does Morana notice how Striga is dressed; cloak, boots with greaves, her leather and iron breastplate, bracers and her sword on her hip -she's dressed for combat. Morana feels a jarring wave of insecurity, her brow knitting and cocking unevenly.</p><p>"Is something wrong?"</p><p>"Possibly." Striga says frankly.</p><p>Morana's eyes widen, her face brimming with dismay. "What is it?" and the words come out unsteadily, with an almost timid vibrato.</p><p>Only now does Striga's expression shift, the smallest tightening in the middle of her brow. "Those letters I received...Welsh needs me."</p><p>Morana blinks at her. "So you're just going to <em>go</em>?"</p><p>"Yes." Striga answers without delay, like it is the only response. "I've already spoken with Carmilla."</p><p>Morana's jaw hangs, briefly speechless. "I don't...can we not send someone else?"</p><p>"No one Welsh can fully trust, no one that has worked with her as long as I have, and I know the territory better than any of the agents we have here. It is the best option." and all of this is very standard sounding, textbook.</p><p>"But," Morana cuts herself off, suddenly unable to put together a reason she deems good enough to counter her with. "Send someone <em>else</em>."</p><p>"I cannot, not in good conscience." The lines in Striga's brow deepen, darken, but her tone of voice remains unchanged. "It's my duty."</p><p>"You are not a soldier anymore, Striga, you are our <em>sister</em>, your duty is <em>here</em>." Morana can feel her throat tightening, making her voice rasp a little more than is natural.</p><p>"Yes, a sister in service to the throne. And, as a general, I am beholden to every soul that serves under me which, as a <em>sister</em>, is <em>all of them</em>."</p><p>Once again Morana finds herself without argument, primarily because Striga is absolutely right; at the end of everything was the simple fact that they were <em>all</em> beholden to Styria. However, at present, if Morana had enough nerve to say so aloud, Styria could burn in hell. How dare the throne demand <em>this</em> of her, of <em>them</em>.</p><p>"I'm sorry." the quiet apology drags and is threaded with a pained sincerity. Striga takes her hand. "I have to do this, and I must leave soon. I only wished to see you, explain myself before I go."</p><p>"We can send more men, you don't have to-,"</p><p>"Morana, please," As soft as Striga's voice is, it is still enough to earn Morana's pause. "Welsh is my friend...and I <em>beg</em> you not to ask that I choose between you." Because the idea of how Striga would respond to such a demand, and how Morana would take to it, is <em>mortifying</em>.</p><p>Morana's expression darkens, a modicum of the hurt she is feeling showing in her eyes now. She brings up her other hand and covers Striga's that still grips her own, both of them squeezing. Morana is thinking, thoughts crowding, her better sensibilities wrestling with her heart. Everything Striga is saying is right and honorable and <em>god damn it all, she </em><em><b>hates</b></em><em> it</em>. Striga means to do exactly what is expected of her, and while Morana does actually feel a mote of pride for her, it is easily obliterated by the seemingly selfish bitterness she is trying to keep hidden.</p><p>Eventually Morana closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, looking up at Striga when she opens them again. She has reined in her emotions as best she can, mostly succeeding, and fakes the sweetest smile she is able. She clears her throat. "May I walk with you? See you off, at least?"</p><p>Striga smiles back, the biggest change in her face since she arrived, and kisses Morana's knuckle. "As you wish, my lady."</p><p>Striga offers her thick forearm and Morana readily takes it in both hands. Her grip immediately tightens, secure, and it doesn't change in any way throughout the entirety of their silent walk through the palace. Neither of them care if they are seen this way, there are more pressing things to worry about.</p><p>Striga can sense Morana's displeasure, can see traces of it on her face, a tightness in the corner of her eyes. She wishes she knew what to say, what to do other than agree to stay, which she simply can't. Striga has never had anyone to leave behind, never had someone to say goodbye to before; in truth, she isn't entirely sure how she feels in general, only that it is far from pleasant. So, lost on what else she could do, Striga slides her free hand over one of Morana's and hopes she understands.</p><p>For the first time in a long time, the chill of the outside air lances through Morana, makes her shiver. She reflexively tucks to Striga's side, earning a reassuring glance and a pat on the hand. Looking ahead, Morana can see that Striga's horse has already been saddled and loaded down with whatever she meant to take with her, which doesn't look like much. Surely Striga knows her way, knows the path and what it entails well enough, but Morana can't help but worry all the same; would it be enough to see her safely return?</p><p>Striga will reach out to take the reins once she is close enough, both loving and lamenting how Morana still holds her arm. She looks at her, waits until Morana meets her eyes before shrugging "I will write as soon as I am able, though it will be at least a week before you should expect anything."</p><p>"I understand." Morana nods, only able to hold Striga's gaze briefly.</p><p>"I <em>will </em>write." She says again, adding weight to her voice. "Not just to report, but <em>to you</em>. I promise. Even if it is just to assure you that I am well."</p><p>"That would be quite comforting, general, and greatly appreciated." If she is still feeling anything negative, it doesn't show in her voice. It's like Morana has put on a mask, that of the courtier, all propriety and professionalism. Striga isn't sure she likes it, especially now that it is directed at her. "Safe and swift journey."</p><p>Striga's brow lowers and thickens over her eyes, a sign of her frustration. She <em>really </em>does not approve of how detached Morana is acting, so she pulls her arm close, bringing Morana with it, and dips her head to capture her lips. Morana is swift to respond, letting go of Striga's arm only to anchor her fists in the collar of Striga's cloak, pulling her in. Now that her arm is free, Striga hooks it around Morana's waist, answering with her own enthusiasm. This kiss feels different, not <em>bad</em> per say, but different, and that Striga can't discern what to call it is unsettling. When they part, Morana's chin drops, her face hidden, and yet Striga understands. She gathers Morana into a tighter embrace, her lips pressing to the top of her head.</p><p>"Take care." Morana's voice is tight and whispering, but it carried limitless weight as opposed to what she had said but a moment ago.</p><p>"I will. You have my word." Striga loosens her arm and motions to start moving away. Morana's reluctance is tangible, but not impossible, and a small space eventually forms between them. "Perhaps I will be home for Christmas."</p><p>Morana seems to lighten up, smiling, though there is still something like pain in her eyes. "Such a generous gift...I might actually consider observing the holiday." She takes a breath and exhales shortly, quickly, like she is trying to smother something. "You have to go...so go."</p><p>Striga's heart clenches and then goes completely still. Now she doesn't feel so much like she is leaving as much as she is being cast out -a sensation that is <em>not</em> unfamiliar. She swallows the lump in her throat and scowls. She carefully raises her hand, hooking Morana's chin with her finger, soft and fond and all manner of other things. "I will come home."</p><p>Morana only nods and pulls further away, her eyes dropping again, and somehow that is harder to bear than her telling Striga to go. Striga suddenly feels heavier, like a lodestone is dangling from her ribcage, and it's awful. Still, Striga takes a breath and nods, mimicking her sister before turning away and pulling herself up into the saddle. The cry goes out for the gates to be opened, and the great iron hinges hiss and screech as Striga's horse starts into a steady walk. Striga can feel the distance between her and Morana yawning wider and wider, like the earth is splitting apart, and when it becomes too great to stand she gives the horse a hard kick and leads it to gallop through the gates.</p><p>Morana remains, statue still and just as stoic, until Striga is out of sight.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><span class="u">Author's Note:</span> A little short this time, but it felt like the perfect spot to close the chapter. This probably feels like an incredibly abrupt change of pace, but, in all honesty, life -or the afterlife, as it may be- is like that sometimes. It comes at you fast, usually before you're ready. It's time for Striga and Morana to be tested, and I just hope all of you have as much fun watching the events unfold as I'm having laying them out. Questions and comments are always welcome, and thank for reading.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter Sixteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Four straight nights of hard, <span>ass-breaking</span> riding in the cold had never felt so long. The trail had stretched on and on in a way it hadn't used to, and there were times where Striga absently wondered if she would ever actually reach her destination. Absently, because it seemed like the only thing Striga's brain could focus on and measure was her distance from the palace. From <em>Morana</em><span>. But she has to squash the notion every time it strong-arms to the front of her mind; it's a distraction she can't afford right now. There's work to do, and making space to miss someone could get her killed.</span></p>
<p>The last leg of the trip took her into a dense swath of forest, pitch black after just a few yards, but she can still take the road at a gallop as the darkness is all but meaningless to her, and her horse is more than accustomed to it. Everything smells the same, feels the same, sounds the same as when she left those few months ago; a part of her is reaching out to case her surroundings, perhaps finding something out of place that might add another piece to this puzzle Welsh had turned her on to. But nothing yet, and the realization makes her feel exposed.</p>
<p>
  <span> Eventually torchlight will break the black and gray of her surroundings into an orb of amber brilliance at the foot of the crested hill. Drawing closer there is more light, torches on watch towers and in the hands of passing watchmen along solid timber walls. It was a sight that had brought Striga comfort at one time, now she isn't so certain. Now it only feels </span>
  <em>familiar</em>
  <span> in a way that one is familiar with clothing and little more. The gates swing open for her without prompting, someone likely having recognized her, and then promptly close once she is inside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Striga acknowledges the collection of salutes that she receives from the present soldiers within with just a wave and a nod, then slides out of the saddle and leaves her horse for the attendant to take. Without delay she marches through, en route to the officers' quarters, not bothering to knock or announce herself even when she finds the inside of the house dark. It </span>
  <em>is</em>
  <span> dark in here, but there are embers in the fireplace still glowing bright orange, and all it takes is a heavy snap of Striga's fingers to bring the fire roaring back to the life. But it won't keep, she realizes, and stalks over to the hearth to add a few more logs to it. The commotion of the endeavor draws a loud snort from the opposite end of the room, from behind the makeshift curtain that separates the bed behind it from everything else. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> That snort is followed by grumbling and cursing in various languages and then a hoarse "Huh-</span>
  <em>fuck</em>
  <span> s'nere?" an instant before the curtain is haphazardly ripped back. Striga casually turns her head, smirking as she watches Welsh fumbling with the curtain and brandishing a knife in her other hand, her wild sandy curls tossed about her face and shoulders.</span>
</p>
<p>"Evening, commander." Striga greets, relaxed, casual. "I didn't expect to find you sleeping."</p>
<p>Welsh stops, scowling hard and squinting against firelight that she hadn't expected. "Eh, fuckin'...s'middle o' th'night,"</p>
<p>"Indeed."</p>
<p>Welsh growls and drops the knife, the blade sticking in the wooden floorboard as she slumps onto her back, a hand over her eyes. "Gimme a moment,"</p>
<p>Striga simply nods and watches the curtain drop back into place, smirking to herself. She listens unintentionally at the soft murmurs behind it, not understanding a word but knowing Welsh is speaking to her wife, Sameena. If the tone was any indication, Welsh was likely reassuring her and trying to convince her back to sleep. Striga is standing up by the time Welsh reappears, tightening her breeches and reaching for a shirt.</p>
<p>
  <span> "Asleep </span>
  <em>and</em>
  <span> naked," Striga chuffs blandly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Oh aye; last I checked, making love to my wife was a tits-</span>
  <em>out</em>
  <span> sort of look. 'Sides, so long as I've a knife in reach, I'm never naked." Welsh brushes it off, snatching up her tunic and pulling it roughly over her head. "I've been up for the last few days, next to no sleep, so I had to. Been sniffing about looking for clues."</span>
</p>
<p>"Don't suppose you've found anything yet?"</p>
<p>"I'll get to that." She nods, pulling her hair back in preparation of tying it. "You need a drink or anything, general?"</p>
<p>"It would be appreciated, yes."</p>
<p>"Have a seat then."</p>
<p>
  <span> Somehow Striga welcomes the comfort that comes with this, being here even though she no longer belongs, speaking with Welsh making it easier. She would always be welcome with Welsh, and the notion reminds Striga that home has never been a matter of </span>
  <em>place </em>
  <span>for her, although it's only been recently that she considers it to be a matter of people. Perhaps she just hadn't made the connection before. But now wasn't the time for that, so she tucks it away as she takes a seat at the table.</span>
</p>
<p>Welsh doesn't bother tucking in her shirt or putting on shoes and she doesn't appear to care that the bright red spot painted in the middle of her brow is smeared, now looking like a stylized comet on her pale, freckled forehead. She leaves briefly, heading down to the cellar for blood and beer to bring back. Welsh offers to share the beer, but Striga declines and gratefully nods when the glass bottle of blood is handed to her.</p>
<p>"How are things at the palace?" Welsh drags her chair around, coming closer to where Striga sits.</p>
<p>"That's not what I came to talk about."</p>
<p>"I didn't expect you to come at all, to be truthful." Welsh casts her a look, a strange amusement. "I expected some extra men and a letter, but here you are. Stuffy nobles actually let you leave? Must nae be such a big chair you're sitting in now."</p>
<p>
  <span> Striga feels something odd, a weird twist in her gut at Welsh's theory. Was she </span>
  <em>offended</em>
  <span>? No, of course not. "Our men are dying and we cannot discover why. Also, you are my friend. Do you wish me to leave?"</span>
</p>
<p>"Oh no, I'm just...shite, I'll be honest, I didn't expect you to be able to find that kind of time for us small folks anymore. Compared to you, we're all ditch diggers."</p>
<p>"You and the pack have been the closest thing to a family I have had in a long time, that's not something you just throw away."</p>
<p>
  <span> Welsh seems to gawk at her, the bottle hovering halfway to her mouth. "Ain't a drop to drink and you're getting sentimental? Now I </span>
  <em>really</em>
  <span> need to know what's been going on with you for the last few months."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Which I will try to find time for </span>
  <em>later</em>
  <span>. But first," Striga smirks again, sips her own drink, "I want to know what you know about the matter thus far."</span>
</p>
<p>Welsh blinks at her, nods with the acceptance of where the conversation is headed whether she likes it or not, and finally takes a few swallows of her beer. "I've lost about half a dozen men in all, and I've kept the place locked down since the last ones turned up missing."</p>
<p>"And you are certain they didn't up and desert? Not that I am calling your judgment into question, I only want your own words."</p>
<p>
  <span> "Well, y'know my folks don't do that, they just </span>
  <em>don't</em>
  <span>, and I don't have any reason to believe any of the others would, either. I've been here long enough, commander or nae, to have a decent rapport with them, I would have noticed something or someone who had would have spoken to me."</span>
</p>
<p>"So what do you think?"</p>
<p>
  <span> "...Desertion is the only thing that makes </span>
  <em>any</em>
  <span> realm of sense, but I know it's nae </span>
  <em>right</em>
  <span>. I haven't found </span>
  <em>shite</em>
  <span> else, nae even </span>
  <em>tracks</em>
  <span>. It's like they all just fucking </span>
  <em>vanished</em>
  <span>. We've been running this valley for the last few days looking for...anything...just gone."</span>
</p>
<p>Striga takes a moment to weigh all of that, possibilities spinning in her mind. "Anything strange going on otherwise?"</p>
<p>"...A wee thing, though I'm nae sure it's connected."</p>
<p>One sable brow peaks.</p>
<p>
  <span> "I hear wolves in the valley, which isn't the strange part -it's winter, they're hunting, it's what they </span>
  <em>do</em>
  <span>. The strange thing is there aren't any carcasses. I go on a walkabout the following morning and there's naught out there; no bones, no blood, no scraps. Sure, it's winter and everything's hungry, but nae like that, it just don't work that way." Welsh feels a certain comfort when Striga nods in apparent agreement. "And they </span>
  <em>sound</em>
  <span> strange, though I can't explain how, but it was enough to warrant a look. That's what I sent the scouts out for to begin with...then they didn't come back."</span>
</p>
<p>Again Striga is silent and thinking, her chin propped on her fist as she rests her elbow on the table. "No signs of fiends or other such things?"</p>
<p>"Nah," Welsh waves a dismissive hand and takes another swig, "I'd smell that mess over a mile away, and Sameena would've felt something by now."</p>
<p>"But there are ways to block a Witch's power, aren't there?"</p>
<p>Fresh consideration flickers across her face, her brows cocked unevenly. "...You think all this might be organized?"</p>
<p>
  <span> "Perhaps. True, this outpost is remote, and the local populace is </span>
  <em>mostly</em>
  <span> beholden to us on amicable terms, but that doesn't rule out-,"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "</span>
  <em>Hunters</em>
  <span>?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "We have nothing to suggest it </span>
  <em>isn't</em>
  <span>."</span>
</p>
<p>"Then what's keeping 'em from just walking through this place while the sun's up and wiping us out?"</p>
<p>"Some of the pack are active during the day, perhaps they know."</p>
<p>
  <span> Now Welsh hesitates to speak, her brow knitting slowly, but tightly, and her unease is plain in the setting of her eyes. "You don't think...</span>
  <em>Belmonts</em>
  <span>?" she almost whispers the name.</span>
</p>
<p>"Unlikely." Striga answers confidently. "Surely they would have razed the whole place to the ground by now. But no name hunters demolishing a town on a border between kingdoms, it could start a war, so they have to take what they can, make sure they can take it quietly."</p>
<p>
  <span> Welsh takes a deep, slow breath, curses "</span>
  <em>Shite</em>
  <span>," with a hiss, then slams down the last of her drink. "If that's the case...would explain a </span>
  <em>lot</em>
  <span>."</span>
</p>
<p>"It would, and it gives us a course of action. Perhaps, taking this into account, Sameena would be able to find something?"</p>
<p>"Aye...mayhaps she could," she nods reluctantly, "but that'll have to wait 'til morning. She'll need time to get, y'know, materials and such."</p>
<p>Striga nods slowly. "But it can be done?"</p>
<p>"I think so, we'll try all the same. So what now?"</p>
<p>"Suppose we talk about reinforcements; how many men do you think you'll need?"</p>
<p>
  <span> "Won't know for sure until this matter is more clear to us, really, and...well...can't replace </span>
  <em>my</em>
  <span> folks, y'know?" there's a tightness in Welsh's throat that she's quick to clear with a gentle cough. </span>
</p>
<p>It's still enough to bring a touch of pained sympathy to Striga's face. One thing she has always respected about Welsh is her drive to take care of her pack. From the eldest to the youngest, she took it as a personal matter that they were all well looked after. She had declared it many times, mostly sober but sometimes drunk, that she would sooner chew off her own arm than lose even one of them, as if she were their mother and they were her own children.</p>
<p>"I am sorry for your loss, truly. And I am sorry I wasn't here."</p>
<p>"Shut your face," Welsh scoffs, "we're soldiers and we do as we're told." she sniffs and quickly rubs under her nose with her hand. "But we'll consider more men once we're done with all this, seeing as no one knows how many more losses we might take before then."</p>
<p>"I am hoping there won't be any more."</p>
<p>
  <span> "That's a nice thought, ain't it?" her smile is painfully counterfeit, all fangs and hidden fury. "Y'know...now that you say it, I hope it </span>
  <em>is</em>
  <span> hunters, 'cause it's been a long minute since I gutted one of those and I think I'm 'bout due."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Don't make wishes you might regret, dog." Striga cautions, though it isn't entirely as serious as it should be.</span>
</p>
<p>Welsh softly laughs in her chest, the sound laced with growls and teeth and a unique, fiery shine to her red and yellow irises. "Suppose we'll see, won't we?"</p>
<p>"Indeed." Striga nods, emptying the bottle and setting it on the table. "But that's a matter for tomorrow. You should get back to bed."</p>
<p>"You sure? I was thinking you and I could go on a walkabout, have a look for ourselves."</p>
<p>"Perhaps tomorrow night, we'll have more time, and Sameena will likely need your help come the morning." Striga's eyes break away, briefly focusing on the curtain across the room. "You should be with her."</p>
<p>
  <span> Welsh's expression steadily twists with a mixture of baffled curiosity and amusement. "So what are </span>
  <em>you</em>
  <span> gonna do all night?"</span>
</p>
<p>"Going to talk to the men, see what they know, and I have to write a report to the council. Don't worry, I won't stir up any trouble." and Striga smirks.</p>
<p>
  <span> "See that you don't, aye? Woken up </span>
  <em>once</em>
  <span> in a night is fine, but </span>
  <em>twice</em>
  <span>, well," Welsh chuckles and stands up, pulling her shirt off again and not caring who's looking. "Might have to put your arse through a tree again."</span>
</p>
<p>Striga rolls her eyes and shows her fangs with a wider smile. "Go to bed."</p>
<p>Welsh dismisses her with a wave but still does as she's told, disappearing back behind the curtain after tugging off her breeches. There are more whispers for a moment, more quiet assurances before there is naught but the sounds of the fire left to hear.</p>
<p>Striga lingers at the table only a little while longer, long enough to satisfy her need to silently analyze what little information she has thus far. It's time to weigh possibilities, to form half-hearted opinions and theories, to consider what sorts of questions she should ask to discern more. When she feels satisfied in the endeavor, she quietly steps out and does her rounds of the outpost, starting with the current watchmen on duty and working down the relevant chains of command. There wasn't much to find outside of what Welsh had already told her -lots of maybe and could-be, nothing concrete- and Striga will make it back to the officer's quarters with a scowl and sunken shoulders. She didn't like how the situation was shaping up, not at all.</p>
<p>She takes care to quietly gather the things she needs to write her report, still scowling because she knows it wouldn't amount to much. Still, she had promises to keep, and Striga was a woman of her word. The fire in the hearth has died out again, but Striga settles for a single candle -even vampires can't read in total darkness, unless the letters are carved or engraved as to cast the various shades of gray needed to make them out.</p>
<p>Striga starts with the official report, it's easier because she is used to the formality of them, and it takes next to no conscious thought on her part to start the pen across the parchment page. She systematically lays out the situation at hand alongside a few of her theories based on the information she has at the moment, and ends the missive with assurance that updates will be sent along as they occur. Cut, dry, to the point, and in a language that is meant to be understood by those meant to see it, not those who might wish to intercept it. Once the ink dries she folds it up and seals it with the wax from the candle, using the pad of her thumb to press it as she always has.</p>
<p>Now comes the more difficult work.</p>
<p>
  <span> Striga has never written a letter for social reasons, there was never anyone to write to. How does one even begin? Is there a casual way to start a letter? Well, yes, Welsh did it all the time, but Striga has a sinking feeling that a letter addressed to the "long-toothed hag" would certainly </span>
  <em>not</em>
  <span> sit well with Morana. However, the little laugh the thought brings Striga is comforting and helps her shake some of the anxiety. It still takes some time for her to gather the confidence to start writing, but once she begins it comes with a surprising ease.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>My lady,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> As promised, as well as desired, I am sending word that I am well and have arrived without incident. I must admit that I do not believe this will contain much, but I imagine a short letter would be preferable to none at all.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> I would venture to guess you will read my report, and if that is already the case, I would ask you not to worry yourself too much. Though I know very little as of yet, I am taking steps to change that, and, hopefully, will be able to solve the matter quickly. I am eager to return home. I miss you.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It feels like an afterthought, almost like her hand had moved to draw those last words without her conscious consent, but she doesn't move to strike them out or start over. Instead she continues, relaxing a little further, thinking it best to just let whatever is meant to be written to come on its own.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Until such time I wish to extend permission that, should it bring you any comfort, you may occupy my chambers to your heart's content as I have left them unlocked for you, and I ask that you consider taking the liberty of choosing some books that we might enjoy together once we are reunited. The night is already so quiet and I find myself longing to hear your voice again.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span> Striga pauses, thinking. Should there be more? Is there more to say that wouldn't just be a reiteration of what she had already written? Once thinking brings a deep scowl to her face she decides to leave it as it is, signing it with </span>
  <em>sincerely</em>
  <span> and folding the letter as she had the first one once the ink is dry. It is also sealed in the same manner as the first and addressed specifically to </span>
  <em>The Lady Morana</em>
  <span>, whereas the first is simply to </span>
  <em>The Council of Sisters</em>
  <span>. The courier's satchel is always hung by the door at night so it can be grabbed first thing in the morning, and she slides the letters into it with the utmost care. There's a certain finality to it, Striga feeling as though she has done all she can for the time being.</span>
</p>
<p>Striga blows out the candle and steps out again, taking stock of the night sky and how close dawn might be. The moon is already out of the sky, or at least too low to see, so it couldn't be but a couple hours until sunrise. She decides to walk the walls, thinking it might help clear her head and rid her of the tingling, restless energy she feels creeping through her. Thankfully the guards give her a wide berth and let her roam about as she pleases, undisturbed. When the sky starts turning gray with the impending dawn, Striga withdraws, making for the root cellar where she and many of the other vampires would take rest until darkness came again.</p>
<p>It smells the same but it's new in her mind, pungent and damp with a hint of spores in the air. She doesn't need to see to find her way to what had always been her bed here, a rank of crates full of tools and such that had always occupied the same space against the same wall for the last...however long. It's all still so familiar, but now far from comforting, and when that reality settles in she finds herself scowling again. Still, she will eventually lie down, pulling her cloak tightly around her as she assumes her usual position, flat on her back with arms crossed and tucked to keep them where they are. The wood creaks under her weight, another familiar sound that no longer brings consolation that she simply accepts.</p>
<p>It will take considerable effort, but she eventually drifts off to sleep after all of the others have come down to roost as well. Thankfully her sleep is deep, and she dreams of Morana.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Come nightfall, Striga is quick to rise and hurry out of the cellar, feeling a claustrophobia she isn't accustomed to and readily disapproves of. She rounds the house at a healthy clip, with purpose, eager to get with Welsh and learn of any new developments that might have transpired during the day. However, she is promptly stopped at the door by none other than Welsh herself, with a half dozen of others from the pack seeming to stand guard over the place.</p>
<p>Before Striga can start to ask, Welsh puts a clawed finger against her own lips to stop her. "Wife's a-workin', keep your voice down."</p>
<p>Striga just nods and comes to sit beside her atop the wood pile beside the door. "Suppose there's something new?" she all but whispers.</p>
<p>"Aye." Welsh nods. "Spent most the morning gathering things, as I said last night...stuff belonging to the ones we lost and whatnot, things for the ritual. But there's another thing, a big thing."</p>
<p>Striga raises her eyebrows, eagerly listening.</p>
<p>"I thought about what you said as I went out this morning, just looking around with fresh eyes and all, y'know? I found iron nails driven into trees and situated in rings."</p>
<p>Now Striga grimaces, knowing this is important but unsure as to how.</p>
<p>"Iron is for blocking Witchwork, or so I've heard, and being situated as they are, I'm thinking they're meant to hide a camp. No trace of it left by the time I found it, but still, it leads one to suspicions."</p>
<p>Striga nods. "Just the one?"</p>
<p>"Nah, now that we had an idea of what to look for, we found a few more. Again, no signs of being occupied recently, but,"</p>
<p>"Likely not staying in one place more than a night. No waste left behind?"</p>
<p>Welsh shakes her head. "Nae human, the bastards must be shittin' en route to wherever it is they spirit themselves off to, is all I can guess."</p>
<p>"Wolf?"</p>
<p>
  <span> "I-," she stops, realization flitting across her face. "...</span>
  <em>Shite</em>
  <span>. Maybe they tamed some, using them to hunt. </span>
  <em>Fuck</em>
  <span>."</span>
</p>
<p>"It is certainly possible."</p>
<p>
  <span> They're quiet for a moment, Welsh crossing her arms and scowling at the dirt between her feet. The lull gives Striga a chance to notice the warm buzz of magic in the air, radiating from within the house. Like waves of curious fingers in search of something, and she can feel it stretching far, </span>
  <em>far</em>
  <span> beyond from where the ritual originates. There's a dull but heavy pulse, and every last one of them standing about the house feels the small hairs across their bodies stand up.</span>
</p>
<p>"Do you think any of the villagers might be in on it? Or the humans at one of the other border posts?"</p>
<p>Welsh thinks, taking a deep breath. "I hate to think it, but it's as plausible as anything. We could always round 'em up and put 'em to a truth spell."</p>
<p>
  <span> "That will take too long; if there's a mole, that's plenty of time for them to get word out, then the hunters bolt and come back later, perhaps with greater force and resources. It's best we stop them </span>
  <em>now</em>
  <span>, focus on how they managed to get this close </span>
  <em>after</em>
  <span>."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Bah," Welsh scoffs, "so be it, then." Another breath, this one much quicker. "You know what this means, right? Means they know about Sameena. And if they know how to stop her, they probably know how to </span>
  <em>kill</em>
  <span> her. That makes this real fuckin' personal, even more so than it is already."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "I understand." And in a way she never has before. It's intimate now, and she knows how and why. </span>
  <em>Morana.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "So whatever you end up doing about this, you best count me in, lest I rip through </span>
  <em>you</em>
  <span> to get to </span>
  <em>them</em>
  <span>."</span>
</p>
<p>Striga can't help but smile. "I had no intention of excluding you, my friend, you know me better than that."</p>
<p>"Aye, I do, but I was taking that new sentimentality of yours into account as well." Welsh smirks. "Speaking of which,"</p>
<p>"No we're not, not now." she deflects immediately, her smile a little wider. "We're still talking about this mess we're in."</p>
<p>"There's nothing else to talk about until Sameena finishes her ritual, so out with it."</p>
<p>"Go fuck yourself, nosy hound." Striga laughs a little, comfortable in her defensiveness when Welsh chuckles too.</p>
<p>"Is it the Lady Morana?" and Welsh waits, eyes keen to any reaction, ears searching for whatever she couldn't or wouldn't see, and what she hears is an all too obvious shift in the vampire's usually non-existent pulse. She smiles, all teeth, as her brows rise as high as they'll go. "Well then,"</p>
<p>"It's none of your business."</p>
<p>"I'm nae saying it is, just asking." Welsh lilts her head, still grinning as she casts a knowing look. "What's she like? Really? All those rumors got any purchase?"</p>
<p><span> "I said </span><em>not</em> <em>now</em><span>."</span></p>
<p>"...She got a nice arse?"</p>
<p>
  <span> "I </span>
  <em>will</em>
  <span> stab you." Striga warns flatly.</span>
</p>
<p>Welsh chuckles and starts to say something else, but is cut off by the sudden, tangible disappearance of the magic in the air. All the amusement snaps clean off Welsh's face as she looks towards the door and stands up, cautiously making her way into the house. Striga isn't too far behind, stomaching the heavy, dizzying waft of incense that hits her as she pushes through the now open door. It's smoky inside, remnants of the hours-long ritual that had just concluded. Striga steps mindfully towards the table, not wanting to disturb the sigils and candles and other components still on the floor.</p>
<p>Welsh had quickly gathered Sameena into her arms and helped her into a chair, and is now kneeling before her wife, both clawed hands around Sameena's as she rattles off soft words that Striga doesn't understand. So Striga simply sits and waits, knowing whatever the Witch had found would keep until she was ready to explain.</p>
<p>
  <span> Striga finds herself watching them, still completely oblivious to what they are actually saying to one another, but the intent is not lost. She had seen them act like this numerous times in the past, but only now does it resonate; they are </span>
  <em>caring </em>
  <span>for each other, and only now does Striga really </span>
  <em>see</em>
  <span> it as such. Soft touch, even softer kisses to Sameena's dark brown and tattooed hand, her other hand stroking Welsh's cheek and how Welsh leans into it with absolute surrender; all these things screamed </span>
  <em>love love love</em>
  <span> in a way Striga had been deaf to before -something in her had never made the connection that such love could be adequately shown versus said. Now she is thinking of Morana again, of kneeling before her and taking her hand. Her heart clenches hard and her hands feel woefully empty as she loses herself to the memory.</span>
</p>
<p>"General,"</p>
<p>Striga blinks out of her reminiscing, immediately turning her attention towards Welsh's voice.</p>
<p>"Seems you thought right." She shrugs, still holding Sameena's hand. "Hunters."</p>
<p>Striga's expression takes on a dark, serious setting. "How many?"</p>
<p>
  <span> "More than a dozen, usually broken into groups. They've been keeping to opposite ends of the valley," she pauses as Sameena speaks, her tawny brows furrowing, "says some of them have left, or at least gone beyond her magic's reach. But there's still a flock of 'em out there, seven or more. And they </span>
  <em>are </em>
  <span>organized; she couldn't get a close look at the symbols they were wearing, but they all had the same ones."</span>
</p>
<p>"Does she know where they are now?"</p>
<p>
  <span> "On the Hungarian side of the border. We could reach them tonight, but it's risky; cleaning up after ourselves and making it back before dawn would be a stretch." Because they would </span>
  <em>have to</em>
  <span> clean up, and Welsh means for this matter to be particularly messy.</span>
</p>
<p>Striga takes a moment to think. "Not tonight." she says quickly, shaking her head. "Tonight we continue keeping the gates shut, no one comes or goes without my personal approval."</p>
<p>"Aye." Welsh nods, no hesitation.</p>
<p>"Does she know how they have been covering their tracks?"</p>
<p>Welsh asks her, receiving a rather short answer. "She says they must have a magician or some sort with them, she found traces of magic that wasn't hers."</p>
<p>"Can we ward the walls? Even if it's just something they would have to waste time tearing down before they break through?"</p>
<p>Welsh asks Sameena, the Witch eventually nodding. "She's got a few tricks, aye. Given the right materials she can do you better than that."</p>
<p>
  <span> "See that she has whatever she needs, provided it's available. The sooner she can begin, the better."</span>
</p>
<p>"It'll have to be after she's slept." Welsh is shaking her head, patting her wife's hand and looking up at her. "But it'll be done, rest assured. With that being said, I suppose you mean to move on the matter rather quickly?"</p>
<p>"I do, tomorrow night at the earliest, but no later than the walls can be secured."</p>
<p>"How are you thinking to go about it?"</p>
<p>"You, me, some of the pack...should be enough to take out the hunters without leaving our post shorthanded."</p>
<p>"A wee night raid?" Welsh grins wide, jagged and gleaming in the candlelight. "Sounds like fun."</p>
<p>Striga reciprocates with but a little grin. "Can Sameena keep an eye on them at all?"</p>
<p>"Already doing that. At the very least she'll be able to point us in their general direction, which is far better than nothing."</p>
<p>"Indeed." after a moment Striga nods, seemingly pleased. "Suppose now all there is to do is...wait."</p>
<p>The three of them nod in turn, Sameena mostly doing it to show she was paying as much attention as she could.</p>
<p>"I'll leave you to your business, commander." Striga stands up, making for the still open door. "Look after her."</p>
<p>"No need to give me an order like that, general."</p>
<p>"I meant that for Sameena."</p>
<p>"Oi, fuck you too." and they laugh at each other until Striga ducks outside and out of sight.</p>
<p>
  <span> Once outside, Striga rounds the house and starts towards the nearest length of the perimeter wall, not thinking twice before using an ounce of her supernatural strength and grace to leap up onto the catwalk. If anyone saw this they must not have paid it much mind -but who would raise their suspicion at </span>
  <em>her</em>
  <span>- nor did anyone seem to care when she made the same leaping motion from there to the nearest, most stable tree limb. She disappears into the shadows of the upper boughs of an incredible evergreen, now the tallest one since she and Welsh had knocked its predecessor over.</span>
</p>
<p>Striga climbs high enough to break above the tree line, but not much higher as the branches started becoming too lean to support her weight. She perches in time, legs straddling the big branch, taking a moment just to absorb the view; looking straight down she can make out the perimeter wall, otherwise it's a swath of moonlit trees that rise and fall over hidden hills and ravines, spread out beneath pitch darkness and stars. It's breathtaking in the time she allows herself to notice, though the wonder is quickly reined in. A part of her searches for something, anything that might add another piece to the puzzle this matter has become. While nearly complete, the picture isn't whole, and any negative space could hold something crucial that could stand between success and failure. But she won't see, hear, or feel anything out of the ordinary, something she is slow and loathed to acknowledge.</p>
<p>Once the disappointment passes, along with a moment of worry, Striga lets her thoughts and attention drift. She reaches down her tunic, into the binding across her breasts and pulls out the coin Morana had given her to roll across her knuckles. One, two, three passes, until she eventually loses count. Her eyes drift westward, in the general direction of the castle, and her brow steadily knits to its tightest.</p>
<p>
  <em>I wonder what she is doing now. Does she miss me?</em>
</p>
<p>Striga laughs at herself. If Morana's behavior had been any indication, she had been missing Striga before she actually left. There's a pang of guilt behind the thought -not that she regretted leaving, only finding it regrettable that her absence might be making someone suffer. She wonders if that is the proper way to feel when you know someone is waiting for you.</p>
<p>
  <em>How long has it been since someone has missed you? Since you have had someone to miss?</em>
</p>
<p>God only knows, and He doesn't speak.</p>
<p>
  <span> Did she...yes, Striga realizes, like a spark across her mind; she </span>
  <em>does</em>
  <span> miss Morana. While she had confessed as much in the letter, it's only in this quiet moment does she really </span>
  <em>feel</em>
  <span> it, and it feels terrible, to tell the truth. Was it like this for everyone? Did Welsh ever feel like this during the scant few times she and Sameena have had to be apart since their marriage? Perhaps Striga should ask...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>But then Welsh would know. Then she would rub it in your face.</em>
</p>
<p>Would that be so bad? Wouldn't that be a minor inconvenience than to shoulder the loneliness in solitude? They shared so much already, why not a little more? Wait...what would she know, exactly?</p>
<p>
  <em>You never would have considered this before. You keep your matters to yourself. Morana has changed you.</em>
</p>
<p>Perhaps. But, again, is that so terrible?</p>
<p>Striga takes a quick but chest-filling breath, drawing up one leg to prop her arm on her knee. For a time she watches the moonlight flashing on the coin's polished surface as it turns, briefly mesmerized. Then she abruptly clutches it in her fist, her elbow bending atop her knee so she can press her knuckles to her mouth as her mind is suddenly swamped with thoughts of her good lady.</p>
<p>Morana's worldly brilliance, her cunning and wit, her ambition and tenacity; on those traits alone, she is surely a marvel to rival the greatest wonders of the world. Striga laughs through her nose, smiling against her own fist.</p>
<p>
  <em>There's so much more to her, and surely you have yet to see it all, but what you have seen is almost dizzying.</em>
</p>
<p>True enough, and Striga would admit it aloud if such a question were ever pressed to her.</p>
<p>
  <em>Morana is everything the stories about vampires are </em>
  <span>not</span>
  <em>. She is certainly not what a human imagines stalking them in the night. Not like </em>
  <span>you</span>
  <em>.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <span> No, Morana is much too bright to be relegated to skulking in the darkness and being used to frighten children into obedience. Morana was timeless, elegant, almost untouchable in her nocturnal splendor. </span>
  <em>Surely you are not envious?</em>
</p>
<p>No, just in awe, perhaps. As a devout human might behold the Madonna, Striga beheld her mental icons of Morana in graceful esteem, sacred in whatever way a night creature like her could be. Because Striga had seen her brilliance and cunning and ambition, but she also knows those softer, more mortal things about her, and therein lies her true divinity.</p>
<p>
  <em>Who knew you were a poet.</em>
</p>
<p>She laughs again, more so scoffing at herself as she closes her eyes. Words never have been, nor would they ever be her strong suit, and she is content with it. But, perhaps it is possible that all she had needed was the proper muse?</p>
<p>
  <em>And a beautiful muse at that.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Oh yes, </span>
  <em>so</em>
  <span> beautiful, beautiful in a way Striga has never found in anyone before her. Striga presses her knuckle against her mouth a little harder, thinking about Morana's lips when they kissed the first time. Of course it isn't anything at all like her, but it was a tactile sensation that Striga's mind could build an illusion on. Now she's thinking of Morana's talons against her scalp, her hands cupping her face, her weight pressing into her. Oh, to hold Morana again...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>You </em>
  <span>have</span>
  <em> changed.</em>
</p>
<p>Striga opens her eyes and stares into the night, her hand tightening around the coin.</p>
<p>Perhaps she had changed. But she decides, without hesitation, that it isn't so terrible.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Author's Note:</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> So yeah, there's that. Next chapter we're going to look in on Morana and, well, see what comes of that. I only have so much control over the matter. Thanks for reading, and thanks to everyone for your wonderful comments. They're always welcome and appreciated!</span>
  </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter Seventeen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Preparations took longer than expected, and Striga accepted that. Sometimes that's simply how things are, no point in losing sleep and wasting energy over it. But now, two nights after discovering the hunters in their midst and reinforcing the outpost walls with wards and extra men, it is time to move.</p><p>The cold, humid air seems to buzz with energy, anticipation that Striga readily feels as she emerges from the root cellar. She has left her cloak behind, and she has removed the metal pieces from her breastplate to stop the rattling. One of the guards lent her his short sword, and she had her bear knife strapped alongside it to her belt. Tonight's endeavor was to be quick and quiet, and she means to make the most of every advantage the night had to offer.</p><p>At the front of the house, Welsh and some of her pack have already gathered and were waiting, a pod of nearly bare, pale, tanned, brown, and black bodies, a dozen in all with Welsh and Striga included. Some had their trousers on, none were wearing shoes, others had a dagger or two strapped in one place or another and nothing else, and all of them had foregone any sort of armor. Still, they were ready to go.</p><p>Welsh is, most likely, saying her last goodbyes to Sameena when Striga comes from behind the house, Sameena's face between her hands and their noses all but touching as they murmur back and forth. One last, quick kiss as Welsh hears Striga's footsteps, before Sameena disappears inside.</p><p>Welsh clears her throat and wipes her nose across her forearm. "Ready when you are, general."</p><p>Striga nods, smirking as she looks her friend over. "Dressed to impress."</p><p>"Well, we've got special company tonight, after all." She smirks and puts her hands on her bare hips. She had always referred to being naked as "Iceni formal wear". "Wouldn't want to show 'em nothing short of my best. Speaking of which, maybe you should rub some mud on your face, skin's pale enough to reflect moonlight, might give away our position."</p><p>Striga chuckles. "Says the one who could vanish simply by standing beside a snow bank."</p><p>"Oh fuck you." She shakes her head and laughs. "But are you ready?"</p><p>"I am. I'll follow your lead."</p><p>"In that case," Welsh takes two steps towards her and holds out her hand, more so presenting her wrist. "Better make sure you can keep up."</p><p>One black brow rises. "You're sure?"</p><p>"O'course I'm sure, you know I trust you."</p><p>"It's been some time since we've done this,"</p><p>There's a certain, vicious gleam in Welsh's eyes, her pitch pupils visibly expanding. "That'll just make things more <em>fun</em>."</p><p>And who said you couldn't have fun while you work?</p><p>With a shrug and a little shake of her head -mostly directed at herself- Striga takes hold of Welsh's forearm and brings her wrist to her mouth. It's quick, a loud pop of fangs piercing skin, and a rumble Striga feels in her teeth as Welsh seems to purr under the pain.</p><p>The blood is hot, almost scalding, and spiced in a strange way. It tumbles down Striga's throat to fill her entire body with incredible, dizzying heat. She draws only enough to fill her mouth, quickly breaking contact with Welsh's skin, and pants after swallowing the last of it. Her heart is hammering now, faster than it should be. It's almost dangerous, almost <em>thrilling</em>, and Striga can feel blood rushing into her face, darkening her sclera scarlet.</p><p>She looks at Welsh, sees her grinning with a menacing, lupine slant to her features -bigger ears, bigger eyes, bigger fangs. Lycan blood is a <em>hell</em> of a trip. "Let's go." Striga growls.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>(II)</em>
</p><p>The palace has been <em>so</em> quiet, at least it has felt that way. Quiet, empty, somehow cavernous and claustrophobic at the same time, and that mess of sensations follows Morana everywhere she goes. She has done her best to stay busy over the last few days -a week now, actually- by diving head first into whatever work she has, and it helps in the beginning. Nights vanish in a blur as she ignores time's passage from her desk, project after project meeting completion in her tireless hands. But that pile of projects only sinks lower and lower as the nights carry on, and soon there is nothing of import for her to focus on, leaving her with nothing but time and the seemingly yawning vacancy of the space around her.</p><p>Lenore had made a point to check in on her throughout the week, and Morana was grateful that she appeared to try and keep her teasing to a minimum. She didn't doubt for a moment that Lenore wanted to, that she likely had a list of cheeky comments backlogged for leagues in her mind, but her sister saw fit to keep them to herself. Instead she simply keeps Morana company, breaking up the crushing quiet and the emptiness. More often than not she brings Cassius or Bartholomew with her, allowing Cassius in particular free reign of the room -which is to say, free reign to occupy Morana's lap at his leisure. Morana never turns the cat's affection away, but still feels it a poor substitute for the touch she so desperately longs for. It's better than nothing, however, so there isn't much room to complain. And it's nice that Cassius will sometimes stay even after sunrise, giving Morana something soft and warm to hold and help her sleep a little easier.</p><p>Still, this melancholy hung on her like a fog; she's aware of her surroundings, but they are diffused, half there, and can barely hold her attention. The haze is so heavy that she has the most neutral, rehearsed words of thanks to the courier when he arrives with a satchel full of missives to go through, and it's only after she has sorted them all, finally coming to a letter addressed specifically to her, that it breaks. Like lifting a veil, everything is clearer and she feels more herself.</p><p>Her first instinct is to tear it open and read it with all haste, but she hesitates, acknowledging the other letter addressed to the council. Judging the similarity in the handwriting, it must be Striga's report, and with that being the case, it should take precedent. It makes her decision easier in a way, because there is a small part of her that is terrified to read it because soldiers only send certain kinds of letters, and not all of them are pleasant. She will leave the letter meant for her on her desk, intending to give it her full attention once she has delivered the others.</p><p>The discussion surrounding Striga's report is brief, but the sisters present all share a similar anxiety over the potential threat of hunters encroaching on Styria; even if it is just a theory, it's a dangerous one, and warrants honest and sober attention. However, there aren't many proactive steps they can take at this juncture, but Morana promises to keep her shadows on standby until the matter is resolved. Lenore broaches the idea of informing some of their local allies, but Carmilla will argue that they didn't need to stir a panic, not when they had no tangible proof of a threat.</p><p>At the discussion's end, Morana is quick to leave the council room, searching for Taubert in order to relay the matter to her so she can contact the rest of her agents and appraise them of the situation. With that out of the way, and for the first time in a week, Morana is eager to return to her chambers. It never occurs how fast she walks, only that she arrives quicker than she expected to, and even that dissipates from her attention as she makes a bee-line for her desk. She takes up the letter and breaks the seal without hesitation, part of her thinking if she didn't do it now she wouldn't be able to at all -quick and painless.</p><p>It only takes the introduction to bring an unconscious smile to her mouth, her eyes lingering on <em>my lady</em> for a long moment as she finds herself wandering towards the doors to her balcony. There is an unconscious need for her body to do something, to exert her will over something as her mind is distracted, and that leads her to push through the doors and step out under the moonlight that's more than enough to read by. Somehow that is enough to calm the restless energy stirring in her body, and Morana sits on the railing, the moon above and casting her shadow away.</p><p>
  <em>"As promised, as well as desired..."</em>
</p><p>Her heart flutters and her thoughtless smile widens. She can hear Striga's voice in her mind, as if she is right here, and it is more comforting than she expects.</p><p>
  <em>"I am eager to return home. I miss you."</em>
</p><p>Morana's lips tuck between her teeth, pressed with care to her fangs. She closes her eyes and takes a breath, trying her best to navigate how she feels at present. It's good, something about it is certainly <em>good</em> , but she isn't entirely sure what to call it. Something about that line is hanging on her, resonating, something about it is so <em>god damn <b>important</b></em> , but she cannot presently discern why. Naturally there is the obvious thing; knowing that Striga actually misses her and is admitting to it makes her heart sing. But there is something <em>else</em> , and it's maddening to feel like she is looking directly at it yet cannot <em>see it</em> . In the end she realizes it is highly likely that she will read the letter again - <em>many</em> times if she is being honest with herself- and tucks the notion away until then.</p><p>She continues reading, and her smile is quick to return. It's incredibly heartwarming for Striga to think of her, make concessions for her comfort while Striga is away, and already she's making a list of books for the shelves in Striga's room. And now all she can think about is another night in the big chair, in Striga's lap and in her strong, protective arms, simply stroking her hair and reading. Morana actually sighs aloud, the idea wrapping around her mind like a silk ribbon, so soft.</p><p>
  <em>"The night is already so quiet and I find myself longing to hear your voice again."</em>
</p><p>Morana takes another breath and folds the letter, holding it in both hands as she looks out across the midnight landscape beyond her balcony. She looks to the east, what she can see of it for the castle being between her and that direction for the most part, primarily thinking of how she would respond. The letter is short, endearingly formal and casual at the same time, as if Striga hadn't been one for casual correspondence -which is perfectly believable- and Morana wonders what an appropriate reply would entail. She has so much to say, most of it being a lamentation of their separation, and she is certain Striga has more important matters at hand than a pageful of her sentimental carrying-on. Surely, given enough time, she could come up with something better than that, but she doesn't want to keep Striga waiting for long. Although that last consideration felt pointless; it would be no less than three days before anything even reached Striga's hands, so...</p><p>Morana shrugs, now frowning a little as she continues to longingly scan the eastern horizon.</p><p>There's no knowing how much time she threw away out on the balcony, but it wasn't a great concern for her when she returned inside and closed the doors, the moonlight coming in now latticed from the framework and glass. Just as they click together, Morana reflexively answers the knock at her door, giving whoever it is permission to enter. As she heads back to her desk, Morana will lift her eyes to see who it is.</p><p>"Carmilla? To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"</p><p>Carmilla offers her an easy smirk from across the room, her strides towards her sister unhurried. "It's been a while since we've had a proper visit. Mind if I have a seat?"</p><p>"By all means."</p><p>She gives a grateful nod, waiting until she is comfortably seated at the common table before continuing. "You've been terribly distant these last few days, I must admit I'm a little concerned."</p><p>"There's nothing to worry about, I assure you. I've only been making an effort to catch up on my work. Which, matters potentially being what they are, is probably for the better."</p><p>"Indeed." Carmilla lilts her head, she then crosses her legs and props an elbow on the table. "Are you concerned about the hunters?"</p><p>"There's nothing I can do about the matter at present, so I am doing my best not to be." Morana confesses resolutely, almost like it's practiced but she still must do her part to convince herself.</p><p>Carmilla nods again, watching Morana as she fusses around her desk for a few seconds and then turns to join her at the table. "What was that?"</p><p>"What was what?"</p><p>"Did you receive a letter?" her crimson painted lips slant upward at one corner.</p><p>"And if I did?"</p><p>"Can't help but be curious who it's from." Carmilla smiles more fully, naturally devious in spite of the lack of such intent. "Some secret admirer?" Then she chuckles.</p><p>Morana smiles for herself, breaking eye contact and turning her gaze to the floor. For being so aloof and abrasive, Carmilla sure as hell was a nosy one. She can't decide if it's better to simply tell the truth or dance around it until Carmilla gives up -<em>if</em> she will. In either case, outright lying or hiding the matter just doesn't seem worth the effort anymore. Perhaps that was her depression talking.</p><p>"Hardly a secret."</p><p>Carmilla laughs again, thoroughly amused. "And what's her name?"</p><p><em>...Might as well.</em> "Striga."</p><p>Somehow the queen just continues to giggle behind her hand. Part of her had expected Morana to join in at some point, because of course this was all in jest anyway...but she never does. Morana eventually lifts her sobering gaze and meets Carmilla's again, and it remains unchanged. Her laughter sputters out and for a moment they silently look at each other.</p><p>Carmilla's expression stretches. "Oh. You're <em>serious</em>?"</p><p>Morana's frame jumps with an amused huff.</p><p>"What...is that why you've been hiding?"</p><p>Morana rolls her eyes. "I'm not <em>hiding</em> . I actually <em>have</em> been trying to catch up on my work. But," she pauses, her brow furrowing as she tries to choose her words, "I will admit that her absence has...dampened my desire to socialize."</p><p>"Well, you always have been the lonesome sort, and after all these weeks of you two being practically attached at the hip...speaking of which, Lenore and I saw the two of you sparring in the courtyard, <em>very</em> impressive, even if I did lose a gold piece over it."</p><p>Morana doesn't like how Carmilla seems to be writing the matter off so casually. Then again, that's just Carmilla's way at times. And she certainly disapproves of the sharpened grin and suggestive setting of Carmilla's eyes in the next instant.</p><p>"So I was right; you <em>are</em> having an affair,"</p><p>"We. Are. <em>Not</em> ." Morana hisses, her eyes intense with razor thin pupils, and jabs an accusatory talon towards her sister. "We have established a <em>proper</em> courtship, and I will <em>not</em> tolerate you referring to it in such a manner <em>again</em>."</p><p>Carmilla immediately recoils, her expression dissolving into something far from comfortable or entertained. She actually looks somewhat small under Morana's scathing, scolding eyes, even after Morana withdraws her hand to fold into the other and rest in her lap. Carmilla starts to speak and stops a number of times, perhaps actually giving thought to what she means to say before releasing it into the world.</p><p>"I...I didn't realize...why didn't you tell me?"</p><p>"You're hardly entitled to my private business." Morana explains as if Carmilla should already know. And she <em>should</em>.</p><p>"But," she knows what she <em>wants</em> to say, she knows she wants to just throw her royal weight around as is her reflex, but she mentally doubles back. "We're friends, sisters."</p><p>"I stand by what I said." Morana reiterates firmly.</p><p>Carmilla seems to wither further, almost sulking. "I'm," starting and stopping again, finally exhaling, "I'm <em>sorry</em>, Morana. I had no idea it was so important to you."</p><p>Morana feels herself relax, her defensive tension soothed by a simple apology because she knows, for Carmilla, apologies are anything but. Not that she is any less disapproving of Carmilla's behavior, but she knows to take what she can get. "Apology accepted, though you shouldn't have to know the intricacies of my relationships in order to respect my feelings about them."</p><p>"That's very true. I am something of a terror, aren't I?" and Carmilla tries smirking again, silently testing to see if she really is forgiven.</p><p>"Among <em>many</em> other things." Morana exhales, somewhat exasperated, but ultimately pacified.</p><p>A strained, mildly uncomfortable silence settles between them.</p><p>Then, "How long have you two been carrying on like this?" Her tone of voice is somewhere between sincere and dismissive, a strange combination that Morana recognizes as Carmilla making an effort.</p><p>"Two weeks now, but," Morana is feeling more secure, like she can finally discuss it, and chances to delve a little deeper. "I have had an eye for her for...some time."</p><p>"Oh?"</p><p>"Since the moment I saw her."</p><p>"Oh god," Carmilla rolls her eyes.</p><p>Morana's brow furrows, her expression souring again. "This is another reason why I would not speak with you about it; you don't believe in love."</p><p>"You've got me there." she readily agrees, no use in denying it.</p><p>"But the least you could do is stop shitting on those of us who still do."</p><p>Carmilla shrugs curtly and scowls a little, mostly to herself as her gaze drops low and away. Sometimes she forgets about these things, her defense mechanisms and coping strategies and horrible habits she picked up for the sake of her own survival. Just as she sometimes forgets that Morana sees them so well, and seems to keep them meticulously cataloged in her mind and at the ready. To be truthful, it's one of the primary reasons she trusted Morana so fully as the sole, irrefutable source of checks and balances to her rule; Morana knew how to dismantle her power at the roots and make it keep, and was so sound in her faculties that she would do so without hesitation.</p><p>"You're right." Carmilla says softly, taking another breath and still keeping her eyes averted. "It's terrible of me to do it, especially to you, of all people. I should be happy for you, shouldn't I?"</p><p>"I would like to hope so, but I cannot demand you to be anything other than what you are."</p><p>And what Carmilla is happens to be a broken, disenchanted woman that couldn't get attached. A woman who couldn't believe in love because it had been wielded as a weapon against her for centuries. Vulnerability had made her a helpless victim for far too long, and she came out the other side of it all with a stalwart refusal to ever bare her neck like that again.</p><p>"Perhaps not, but you could certainly demand I be <em>better</em> than I am. We are friends, you are my dearest confidant, my <em>sister</em> ," and the last word carries a prodigious weight as her eyes finally meet Morana's again. "Of all things, I should believe in <em>you</em>."</p><p>Morana blinks back at her, visibly surprised.</p><p>"I am the <em>worst</em> at showing it, but I love you, Morana. Not the way you <em>need</em> but-,"</p><p>"No," Morana shakes her head abruptly, "we're not getting into that. It is in the past and I wish for it to remain there."</p><p>"I know. But, if you can believe it, a part of me wishes that I <em>could</em>. You have done so much for me...I wouldn't have the throne if not for you, and I know that such a love would make you happy. Aside from that, I don't know if I could ever properly repay you."</p><p>"I am your right hand, Carmilla. I couldn't ask for more."</p><p>"You certainly could." Carmilla counters with a smirk. "And if I could give it to you, I likely would. Because if I cannot be the source of your happiness, I would see that you could pursue it for yourself. It's the very least I can do for you."</p><p>Morana has to make herself smile because this conversation is leaving a bitter taste in her mouth with the resurgence of old memories, old resentment, and thoughts of a kiss she wishes she had never given. She didn't desire Carmilla any longer, not in a way outside of physically, and Morana would prefer it to stay that way.</p><p>Another tense quiet drifts into place, hanging briefly.</p><p>"Does she treat you well?"</p><p>"Of course," Morana's expression twists with disbelief, as if the question was preposterous. "Why wouldn't she?"</p><p>"Military types share certain...behaviors, you know."</p><p>"I certainly do, and she does, but not like that. At least not in a way that has done me any harm."</p><p>"Good." Carmilla nods once. "If she <em>does</em> hurt you-,"</p><p>"Please don't." Morana's smile has become more genuine, though no less vexed as she shakes her head. "You don't need to lecture me <em>or her</em>, you're not my father."</p><p>"Who said anything about a lecture? It's just a bit of friendly advice, hardly even what I would call a warning, I'm just laying down the facts, really-,"</p><p>"You are <em>so</em> full of shit." Morana sighs, and it's enough to stop Carmilla's growing rant and make room for the laugh they share with and at one another. "But your concern is...appreciated."</p><p>Carmilla gives an exaggerated and slow nod, her smile shifting from amusement to self satisfaction. "Perhaps, if I had known, I wouldn't have been so ready to let her go."</p><p>Morana shakes her head. "You did the right thing. It <em>is</em> her duty, and if the matter is as grave as it sounds, it was the best step to take. I should have been better prepared for it, courting a soldier and all."</p><p>"Fair point." Carmilla lilts her head. "So, if you don't mind my asking, just how long have you been chasing after her?"</p><p>"I wouldn't say I've been <em>chasing</em> her," Morana suppresses a little laugh. "But, safe to say my pursuit has become decidedly more active since she joined the council."</p><p>"Does Lenore know about it?"</p><p>"She does. You could say she was my co-conspirator in the matter."</p><p>"And she <em>actually</em> managed to keep it a secret? I have to admit that I'm impressed."</p><p>"As am I, to be truthful." Morana agrees with a certain enthusiasm, the two sharing another laugh.</p><p>"But you didn't answer my question; you said from the moment you saw her? Which was when, exactly?"</p><p>Though she still smiles, Morana mentally braces, sensing Carmilla's reaction to her answer. "I think Striga came to Styria in the twelve-fifties...perhaps fifty-six. After a couple decades, one tends to lose an exact account."</p><p>Surprisingly, Carmilla says nothing, only casts a wide-eyed look of baffled amusement. There might have been something like amazement or even pride in it somewhere as well. And when the queen does speak, it's with a tone of admiration. "You are a <em>marvel</em>."</p><p>Morana isn't entirely sure how to take it, though it feels like it is meant to be a compliment.</p><p>"After all that work for all that time, I'd be an absolute <em>lunatic</em> to look down my nose at you, never mind the reason. I'd almost dare to say you're <em>entitled</em> to her."</p><p>"Would it kill you to say something <em>objectively</em> kind? Just this once? For <em>my</em> sake?" Morana is smiling in spite of herself, so the look is cocked funnily.</p><p>"Come now, I'm trying my best, <em>for your sake</em>." Carmilla tries and fails to suppress another fit of laughter, something about Morana's expression just making it impossible for her to keep her composure. And she feels less guilty about it when Morana chuckles a little as well. When it passes, in an exceptionally rare display, Carmilla reaches across the little distance between them and takes Morana's hand between both of her own. "And, for your sake, I'll do what I can to see you happy."</p><p>It takes every ounce of Morana's discipline not to say what she is thinking, which is to tell Carmilla to simply keep her distance from the matter altogether. But, on the other hand, Carmilla was making an honest attempt to do right by her. In her own way, of course.</p><p>"As much as I appreciate the sentiment, my happiness has gone off to defend our borders -<em>don't roll your eyes at me like that</em> ," now she believes her greatest joy lies in slapping the absolute <em>undeath</em> out her sister, "so, if you could simply refrain from harassing me about it, I will be content."</p><p>"Surely there's more I can do than that,"</p><p>"Baby steps," Morana says flatly, "after all, Rome wasn't built in a day."</p><p>"Very well, if you insist." Carmilla sighs and withdraws. "Although, should it come about that we have an opportunity to bring your dear general home, I mean to take it."</p><p>"Provided it is reasonable to do so, by all means. Until such time, I only hope to give her whatever support we can."</p><p>"Naturally. Consider it done." Carmilla lilts her head and gestures with her hand, looking satisfied in herself. "Though I intend to have her back here by the new year, because I'll be damned if my first major function as queen goes without my highest general <em>and</em> an incomplete council. Terribly tacky."</p><p>"God forbid." Now she wants to strangle Carmilla, but is able to rein it in as before.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>(III)</em>
</p><p>Striga now remembers why she never took a shine to regular doses of lycan blood; coming down from it is a <em>nightmare</em>.</p><p>It's morning, long past sunup, and Striga lays on a bedroll in the officer's quarters instead of the root cellar below, flat on her back with her arms over her head and looking like she had fallen there. She has yet to sleep, and her entire body buzzes with ache and anxiety and tension that she can't let go of. It hangs like lead in her veins and keeps her heart thrumming at a nervous clip, keeping sleep far out of reach. Her eyes feel swollen, sore, but it's all but impossible to keep them closed, and looking up into the ceiling gives off the illusion of a bottomless pit that she could tumble into. Her jaws are tight and blood throbs around her fangs, tricking her addled mind into believing she is desperately in need of feeding, yet her guts ache because she is more than full. Her overstimulated skin is more than aware of the roughness of dried blood in her clothes, crusting around her mouth and neck and chest, but the thought of cleaning up feels like madness -peeling her skin off instead sounded somehow <em>better</em>.</p><p>Yes, <em>now</em> she remembers why she didn't make a habit out of lycan's blood.</p><p>But it had made for a successful hunt last night, no denying that. Very successful and, as Welsh had claimed, fun. Striga had felt as if she was passing through a world where time had stopped, that she was the center of creation and could unmake it with a thought. Nothing could move or think faster than she could, and it made for messy, but satisfying kills.</p><p>The kills had not been easy, no, those hunters were <em>good</em>, but they still weren't enough to withstand the shadowy deluge of fangs and claws that swept through the forest and washed them away. It had only been half of the number Sameena had scryed for, one of the groups the hunters had split into, but it was still seven well armed and well trained hunters they no longer had to be worried over. There were still things to worry about, to be sure, but Striga was having a terrible time keeping track of them at present. It could wait, though, there was time now.</p><p><em>You have a report to write</em>.</p><p>Striga cringes at the stray thought, perceiving it as rather loud in her own head, and then drops a hand to her face to rub her eyes. There would be time for reports too, but later. <em>Much</em> later. And it would certainly be better if she were more sober than this before attempting something so formal. Wouldn't go out until tomorrow morning anyway.</p><p>
  <em>Don't even think about writing Morana, either, as much as you want to.</em>
</p><p>Striga is cringing again, this time from a loud, grinding sound that she is certain is <em>outside</em> of her head. She doesn't so much as turn her head as she lets it drop to the side, her bloodshot eyes thinning in the direction of the curtain across the room and the lycan sleeping behind it. Her envy at Welsh's obviously untroubled slumber is palpable.</p><p>It takes some doing and more focus than she has available, but Striga unsteadily drags herself into a sitting position, her stomach flipping over before she braces herself against the wall. A little belch escapes and tastes of rancid copper, makes her groan and sound like a disgruntled bear. There's another snort from the bed, limbs flailing and making the curtain jump with stray impacts, then a pained oath and a whimper. "<em>Fuck</em>...time is it?"</p><p>"Early." Striga answers, her voice tight and wrecked, all jagged edges.</p><p>The curtain jerks back, Welsh squinting and blinking. "The fuck are you doin' up here?"</p><p>"You insisted, remember? Said someone should keep an eye on me."</p><p>"Ah...yeah, I 'member. You still comin' down?"</p><p>"Nearly there."</p><p>Welsh hums and nods, pushing clawed fingers roughly across her scalp. "You seen 'Meena?"</p><p>"Not that I can remember," but part of her is fairly certain she had been in and out of here a few times in the last little while. Though that could just as easily been some hazy figment, the manifestation of an old memory trying to pass as new. Striga winces when Welsh calls out for her wife, the growl ringing in her head, a pain that only worsens in the following seconds when the Witch appears, ambient sunlight crashing through the open door and making the vampire twist away from it in spite of the light not coming even close to her.</p><p>Striga's heart is pounding over the too sudden movement, reflexively panting as if it would help soothe its frantic pace. She tries to focus on other things, the soft conversation at the other end of the room, or the scent of the cool morning air filtering through the open door; anything other than the discomfort crackling across her nerves. <em>Never again</em> , she swears to herself. <em>Never, ever again.</em> The vampire jumps at a small hand on her shoulder, looking to see Sameena -her bone white irises more startling than her touch- trying to hand her something, a brown glass vial.</p><p>"Don't let it touch your tongue, tastes awful."</p><p>"What is it?" Striga asks warily as she takes the bottle, hoping Sameena won't be offended by her tone.</p><p>Welsh is sitting up now, an arm across her waist and bracing against winding bandages. Sameena kisses her before heading outside again. "She brewed that up special for me, a pick-me-up for the morning after the full moon." In her other hand she holds a similar bottle, gestures with it. "Thinking about how blood works in you nightwalkers, maybe it'll help you too. Help your wits come back quicker, if nae easier."</p><p>Striga takes a moment to weigh the notion, eventually nodding. She watches Welsh down the contents of her bottle, the disgust flashing over her face when she swallows heavily and groans at the taste. Briefly she thinks to ask why she was taking it, since the moon wasn't full yet, but her mind clicks back together properly and she doesn't need to. Those hunters had been <em>well</em> armed, such as weapons plated in silver, and wounds like that don't heal quickly. In the moment, Striga realizes they had been so lucky last night; perhaps a great number of injuries, herself with a few, but no losses. Fucking <em>lucky</em>.</p><p>In any case, Striga sees fit to drink...whatever it was, though she regrets chancing to smell it first. There's no identifying what it stinks like, only that she wishes she hadn't tried to, and she does her best to follow Welsh's advice and not let herself taste it. It didn't work, and her stomach flips again, but she keeps it down. "<em>Ugh</em> , what is <em>in</em> this?"</p><p>"Don't ask questions you don't really want the answer to." Welsh chuckles, grunts at a pinch in her stomach. "Fuck me, my guts haven't hurt like this since I was fat with my young'ins."</p><p>"You still remember that? How long has it been?"</p><p>"Some things you just don't forget." Welsh stands up, perhaps tired of sitting, and goes looking for her trousers. "Even after," she pauses, eyes up and brows cocked in a curious way, an expression that holds as she gingerly tugs her pants up. "Oh heavens...twelve hundred and fifty years? Maybe?"</p><p>A hoarse chuff. "And all this time you've be calling <em>me</em> an old hag,"</p><p>"Aye, because you are." Welsh casts her a smirk, making Striga laugh. "Never denied being one myself. Then again, you never asked."</p><p>"Never thought it was my business."</p><p>"Fair enough." She lilts her head and uncomfortably eases over to the table, to occupy the chair closest to Striga. "How are you feeling?"</p><p>Striga takes a breath, holds it, mentally taking stock of herself. "Marginally better."</p><p>Welsh nods, shifting in her seat to scratch her bare back against the back of the chair. "So what for us now?"</p><p>"Once I'm...together again, I will appraise the council of our findings." She remembers all the items they recovered, the weapons and embroidered clothes that all shared the same symbol. "I will also requisition reinforcements and plan to stay until they arrive, I want to make sure the rest of those hunters don't try to catch us with our pants down."</p><p>"Well, considering my personal habits, that's likely to happen regardless." Welsh smiles and puts up her hands. "But it's nae entirely necessary. We could always have Sameena scry again, see if we can put on another raid and wipe 'em out."</p><p>"We should try to keep our eyes on them in any case. We also need to look into a possible mole."</p><p>"Aye, true. But do you really need to stay for all that?"</p><p>Striga side-eyes her. "You want me to go?"</p><p>"It's nae that," Welsh casts her a knowing look, "you <em>want</em> to leave."</p><p>Striga turns her head, looks at her squarely though the setting of her eyes hasn't changed. They're still narrow, judging, bordering on vicious. "The hell makes you say that?"</p><p>"You think I haven't noticed the way you've been carrying on these last two nights? Your sneaking off and hiding in trees and such?"</p><p>Striga seems to recoil, feeling exposed, more so <em>caught</em>.</p><p>"You and I've been through a lot together...seen plenty of ugly and wondrous things, but I've never seen you act like this." Welsh sounds strangely caring, softer than Striga is used to hearing. "What's got to you, Striga? What is it you're missing so badly?"</p><p>Now Striga's mind is painfully clear, that haze that was so easy to hide in seeming to vanish. She's aware of how empty her hands feel now, and of the dull, cool weight of the coin against her sternum beneath her clothes.</p><p>"And if you say it's that cushy palace, I'm beatin' you with this chair."</p><p>Striga buzzes her lips and shakes her head, pushing a hand roughly through her hair. "And why is that?"</p><p>"Because you don't miss places, I'm certain of that much, though I've never understood it. But I <em>know</em> it's <em>something</em>, and if it's nae a place,"</p><p>"What does it matter? I doesn't interfere with our work," Striga inches her shoulders, hands gesturing somewhat aimlessly.</p><p>"It matters because you matter to me. You're my friend and such, and we look out for each other."</p><p>Striga rolls her head to look at her, one brow raised. "Now who's getting sentimental?"</p><p>"Oi, I'm being serious." and the shift in her tone is tangible evidence of that. "Besides, you started it. So what's going on?"</p><p>Striga turns her head back, looking forward for a moment before closing her eyes as if they hurt, which they still do in a way. She's thinking, weighing her choices; she could lie, but she could only hide that so well. Welsh would sniff her out for sure. Or she could just come out with it. Either way, Welsh would know. So why waste the energy and the words?</p><p>"...Suppose there...is someone."</p><p>"That sounded like it hurt." Welsh huffs out something like a laugh.</p><p>Striga twists her mouth into a silent snarl, a clear sign of her displeasure at the reaction. "But...you were right."</p><p>"Oh? About what?"</p><p>"...Morana." and she immediately begins regretting saying anything as she watches Welsh's eyes become unnaturally wide. She knows what's coming, knows she is going to hate hearing it, and mentally braces.</p><p>But, surprisingly, there is no great mess of smug satisfaction twisted into words that could all be summed up into "I told you so". Yes, her eyes stay wide for several moments, and she smiles that wicked lycan smile, but then she softens, and stays quiet a little longer. Then, as she nods, mostly to herself, "I knew there was something to those letters."</p><p>Striga opens her eyes, still looking ahead, but now her brows are furrowed, making her appear to be trying to stare holes into the wall across the room. <em>The letters...those fucking letters.</em> "Jasmine." she says quietly to herself, not realizing the words actually manifested.</p><p>"Pardon?"</p><p>It takes her a moment to answer, to have enough clarity to. "Jasmine oil, that's what was on those letters. Morana uses it."</p><p>Welsh's brows are up. "You been close enough to tell?" And she is able to stop herself from laughing when green eyes cut to her and hold her gaze in a tight, cautioning way.</p><p>Striga volunteers to break eye-contact, having gotten her point across. "Why would someone do that?"</p><p>"Could be coincidence."</p><p>"What if it isn't?" the questions comes quickly, almost anxious.</p><p>"Well, I don't know if scent works with vampires like it does <em>us</em>," she waits, sees Striga lilt her shoulders and shakes her head -she doesn't know either way, "but back in the day we used it to keep our territories. It's how we knew when new packs were passing through or trying to put down roots, how we told each other where we were and such. Now we use words like real people, but we still use it for more discreet communication. Maybe the good lady was just trying to tell you something, just letting you know she was there and was aware of you."</p><p>All those years...had Morana actually been reaching out to her, wishing to be seen in some way? Had she been doing it intentionally? Did it matter at this point, all things considered? "Do you believe in love at first sight?"</p><p>"Odd question," she smirks awkwardly, "but, aye, I do. It wasn't that way for my husband and I, but it was for Sameena."</p><p>"What was it like?"</p><p>"Well, what's love like in the first place? It's just as easy to answer your question as it is mine, which is to say there is no <em>one</em> answer. Love takes so many forms. Like you and I, I've always loved you by sassing the shit out of you and doing what I can to make sure you have a good time every once and a while."</p><p>"For the record, you're shit at it."</p><p>"Nae my fault you're such a fuckin' killjoy." she counters, but with a certain brand of affection that is uniquely her own. "But you love me too, I think, in your own way. You've always looked out for me, kept me out of trouble when you could. You gave me and the pack a place to be."</p><p>Striga thinks about it, then lilts her head as a form of silent agreement.</p><p>"But, with Sameena...you weren't there to see it, it was during the day. There was so much <em>misery</em> in her eyes, because that sleezy son of a bitch had her by the short ones, and it broke my heart. I had to get her away from him, nothing else mattered. I didn't care if she ever loved me or stayed or even thanked me; I would have been happy just seeing <em>her</em> happy. I think that's a form of love too, when you would give anything for their happiness and never mind what it leaves you with."</p><p>Striga's mind is wandering while she listens, though purposefully. It's filing through things, memories, scrutinizing the remnants of her time with Morana. Her thoughts linger on that early morning in her good lady's room, comforting what Morana had described as a hunger in her body. She remembers the look in her eyes, the hidden pain in that pale blue, and how Striga had wanted nothing more than to soothe it.</p><p>Did that count? Was that love?</p><p>
  <em>Do I love her?</em>
</p><p>"Does she know?" Welsh asks, her soft sincerity laced with impish curiosity.</p><p>"We're actually courting." she answers, sounding surprised.</p><p>"<em>Oh</em>, well then," Welsh's expression stretches, belying her loss for words. Then "Did you ask that for yourself?"</p><p>"No. In truth, I do not understand how love at first sight is even possible, but I wanted some...insight, I suppose."</p><p>"Does Morana?"</p><p>She thinks, brows furrowed. "Yes, I believe she does."</p><p>"Which would explain the letters." Welsh nods slowly, realization flickering across her face for all of a second. Then she laughs and shakes her head. "Life is strange, ain't it?"</p><p>"<em>Indeed</em>." Striga readily agrees, eyes wide and awestruck at the incredible truth of that statement, as if it hadn't really clicked until just now.</p><p>Welsh laughs a moment longer before pushing herself to stand up. She goes to find her shirt and pull it on, wincing and swearing as she does. "I'll help you write the report, you can dictate to me."</p><p>"What? Why?"</p><p>"You got a woman waiting on you, and if she's worth you missing her, she's worth getting you back as soon as possible. 'Cause you're my friend, and I want you to be happy and all that shite."</p><p>Striga casts her a curious look that holds all the while Welsh's back is to her as she gathers writing implements and paper. When Welsh looks back at her, holds her gaze, Striga eventually breaks into a heartfelt but tolerant smile. "Stubborn hound."</p><p>"Snaggletooth wench." she plops down into the chair she occupied before, pen in hand and paper laid out in front of her. "Now who the hell am I addressing this to?"</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><span class="u"> Author's Note: </span> Well, that was something. It feels weird, but maybe it's just me. Perspective and all. I wanted to expand more on Carmilla and her relationship with Morana in particular, which is difficult because, out of all the sisters, Carmilla is the one I find the least interesting. Not that she's a bad character, just a matter of preference. And I really wanted to expand more on Welsh and show her as Striga's closest friend -in their own weird way, of course. I think I accomplished that all right, though I'll admit I got a little long-winded in the end. Next chapter is going to be a doozy though, because it's time for some blood, guts, and some high-test hurt/comfort. Hope you're ready.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter Eighteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Striga has done everything she can think of to secure the outpost, but even as she watches from one of the open windows of the officers' quarters as a dozen fresh troops march in file through the gates, she feels it isn't enough. They hadn't been able to locate the rest of the hunters, nor a trace of where they might have gone, and there hadn't been an attempt on the walls. There was no real reason for Striga to stay, but she is only so happy about that. She worries for Welsh, worries about the hunters coming back en force once she's gone, but she cannot stay and protect her. There are higher obligations that she is beholden to, including those that have manifested in her heart.</p><p>
  <em>It's time to go home. She's waiting for you.</em>
</p><p>Yes, Morana was waiting, as stated in her recently delivered letter. It had come three nights ago, alongside official word from the council that reinforcements were on the way, and that the symbols Striga had described in her recent report were being looked into by the resident scholars. The assurance on behalf of her sisters had been a considerable comfort, but Morana's letter had made her genuinely <em>happy</em>.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>My Dear General,</em>
</p><p>
  <em> I was elated to receive word from you, and you have my deepest gratitude for the effort you put in to offer me peace of mind. I hope you will regard this sincerely, as I believe I have yet to know any real peace since your departure. My nights are simply not the same without your company, to the point where I have run out of ways to occupy myself outside of yearning for your return.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Carmilla knows about us now. I apologize for not bringing the matter to your attention beforehand, but the opportunity presented itself and I saw no reasonable way of avoiding it any longer. She is not displeased, in fact she has assured me -as I am sure you have ascertained from the council's official correspondence- that every avenue of support we can provide you will be yours. I, personally, found it comforting, but only so much as it has done nothing to bring our separation to a more swift end.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> I know in your most recent letter you promised to set off for home once reinforcements arrive, but even an hour more without you is too long. I miss you greatly, and want nothing more in this moment than to be in your arms again, as your embrace is, by far, the most comforting place I could ever be.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> May your journey home be safe and without delay, and know that you are eagerly awaited.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>With love and longing,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Morana</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Striga has read it multiple times since its delivery, often considering carrying it on her for the sake of an illusory closeness to her good lady, though she ultimately declines, thinking herself ridiculous for even entertaining the idea to begin with. She's doing it again at present, laughing at herself because of how silly it still feels.</p><p>Striga folds it up, keeping hold of it as her arms cross her chest and she thinks. Not about anything in particular, at least not at first. She looks through the open window beside her, watches briefly as Welsh goes through the pomp and circumstance of inspecting the new troops, tapping her own armored shoulder with the hard, folded edge of the letter. The motion created the smallest air current, an easily missable draft, but Striga's nose caught it, and her head turns immediately. Striga takes a slow, steady draw through her nose, eyes closing as a familiar scent fills her head.</p><p><em>Jasmine. There it is. There </em> she <em> is.</em></p><p>It arrests every last thread of thought, snares every ounce of her attention, and now all Striga can think about is Morana. Now she is certain, and eager, to return home.</p><p><em>Home...really? Not the palace, but...</em> really <em>?</em></p><p>The door swings back and smacks the wall, a taloned hand wildly reaching as if it had meant to stop it. It snaps Striga from her contemplation, all her focus shifting to Welsh once she steps through the now open door.</p><p>"Your horse is ready, general."</p><p>Striga simply nods and straightens, proceeding to fold the letter a few more times until it is a palm-sized square that she tucks down her tunic to sit safely beside the coin. She makes a last few, mostly mental checks, makes sure she has everything she had brought with her and was ready to leave before stepping outside.</p><p>Welsh falls into step beside her, having waited beside the entryway. "New troops should fit in just fine."</p><p>"Good, be sure to send word if you need anything else. I'll make sure you have it."</p><p>Welsh nods, almost perfectly mimicking Striga. "Be careful going back, aye? I hate thinking those bastards might still be out there."</p><p>"As do I." Striga nods once. "But it is the manner of things."</p><p>"Aye, doesn't mean I hate it any less." she grumbles. Welsh waits until Striga has pulled herself astride her horse and settled in the saddle before saying "You didn't have to drag yourself all the way out here for us, but you did, and for that, you have my thanks. You're a good woman, Striga, don't let anyone tell you any different."</p><p>Striga's brow furrows and she cuts a half-hearted smirk. "Seems the sentimentality is contagious."</p><p>"Aye, like fleas, so you best take 'em with you." she splits a toothy smile. "Perhaps your good lady will be more agreeable to them. And be sure to give her my regards."</p><p>"I will." Striga nods once and chuckles softly. "Take care, my friend."</p><p>"Same to you, now beat it."</p><p>Still smiling, Striga walks her horse out of the walls, immediately kicking it into a gallop once on the other side, meaning to cover as much ground as she could before sunrise.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>(II)</em>
</p><p>Morana is quick to rise from her bed in spite of Cassius' cranky noises, feeling terribly uncomfortable. At first she doesn't know what to call it, because it isn't that starvation for touch, but an anxiety much like it. Or maybe not, because it isn't just in her skin, it's more...generalized. It's all over, and it's awful, and she just cannot understand where it's coming from.</p><p>Something just feels so...<em>wrong</em>.</p><p>Cassius watches Morana as she appears to pace her room, going through a more hurried and harried rendition of her evening ritual, his big, slitted red eyes tracking her back and forth. He seems none the wiser to Morana's plight, and would be unlikely to care if he was, considering how cats are. In fact, his greatest concern goes only so far as to wonder what she must be doing that's more important than giving him attention. And after all that time he spent keeping her warm today.</p><p>All Morana can really think to do is move quickly, feeling like she simply doesn't have <em>time</em> for meticulous preparations for some reason. She doesn't forgo combing her hair, but she doesn't put the usual amount of work into it, using just enough oil to keep it back and out of her face. She doesn't put in any earrings or other jewelry, and doesn't bother with the usual cosmetics. The idea of bothering with her typical attire makes her mentally recoil, and she settles for trousers and a silk shirt. Somehow that feels something like right, doubly so when she pulls on her boots.</p><p>Something about this...</p><p><em>Why...do I feel like I have to </em> be <em> somewhere?</em></p><p>Yes...that certainly feels like what this is, like she's late for something. But what on earth could she be forgetting? She had never been tardy for anything in her life <em>or</em> afterlife, so where was this coming from?</p><p>Morana tries to find something to busy herself, thinking maybe she could distract herself away from this anxiety. There are a few little things, expenses to finalize and bills of sale to sign, so she does her best to focus on those for the time being. Surprisingly, it helps, enough to make her lose a few hours and completely miss the first knock at her door. There isn't a second, which explains the little jump Morana makes when someone calls her name. She quickly twists in her seat to have a look. "Oh, Lenore, I didn't hear you knock."</p><p>"I did," Lenore assures her with an understanding smile, "I wasn't sure you were even here, so I let myself in."</p><p>Morana just nods, turning away from her work completely. That anxiety is creeping up again, though she is trying to suppress it. "Was there something you needed?"</p><p>Lenore is almost across the room, passing the common table with her eyes on Morana's bed. "I was looking for my fat boy, here." And Cassius stands up with an indignant meow, his luxurious tail straight up and fluffed. When Lenore is close enough she offers her hand, Cassius coming immediately to rub against it before bounding up onto his mistress' shoulder and perching there. "Did you sleep well today?"</p><p>"Yes, thank you."</p><p>"...Why are you dressed like that?" Lenore can't help but laugh a little, uncertainty twisting in her amused expression. "Are you going somewhere?"</p><p>"I...don't know. It's the strangest thing," she pauses, her mind frantically trying to form the words to properly articulate her emotional state at present. "I feel like I'm supposed to be somewhere."</p><p>"Where?"</p><p>"Somewhere other than where I am." she says it without thinking, but somehow she knows it's true. Still, Morana throws up her hands and then lets her face drop into one of her palms. "I must sound insane."</p><p>"Maybe you just have a touch of the shut-ins. You've hardly left your room for the last couple weeks, you know."</p><p>"Yes, I know." a begrudging sigh. "But that's not entirely out of the ordinary for me, is it?"</p><p>"Well, no, not entirely, now that you say so." Lenore answers honestly.</p><p>"So why do I feel like this <em>now</em>?" and she looks to Lenore, her expression clearly begging for some sort of answer.</p><p>Lenore takes a moment to sigh and think, scratching Cassius' chin as she moves to take a seat at the common table, still facing her sister. "Why not try just getting out? And I mean actually go <em>outside</em>, not just slip off to Striga's room." She just smiles her usual smug smile when Morana narrowly side-eyes her. "It's a full moon tonight, the weather is clear, it's a great night for a walk."</p><p>Morana takes a breath and rubs her eyes. "Perhaps."</p><p>"Shouldn't Striga be here soon? Surely that batch of soldiers have arrived by now,"</p><p>"As far as I'm aware, so she could be back any night now."</p><p>"Then maybe you're just antsy, you're eager to have her back."</p><p>"There's no question in regards to <em>that</em>." Morana gives a tired, breathy chuckle. "But that is a matter I do not have control over at present."</p><p>"Which is a perfectly understandable reason why you're out of sorts." Lenore says in a matter-of-fact way. "In any case, I highly recommend you get out of this castle, even if it's just for an hour or two. Go <em>hunt</em> something for a change, burn off some of that nervous energy. Otherwise, when Striga does get back, we'll need a pry bar to separate you two."</p><p>"Bold of you to assume we would let you attempt such a thing." Morana smirks.</p><p>"Well we can't have you two necking yourselves into starvation, can we?"</p><p>They share a laugh, and as it dissipates, Morana stands up and pushes in her chair. Lenore makes a fair point, she thinks; perhaps she had been more reclusive than usual, and a walkabout might be just what she needed to shake this nagging dread hanging on her. Yes, perhaps going out and stretching her legs would do her good. With a grateful smile to Lenore, Morana turns and makes for the doors to her balcony, pushing them open and stepping outside.</p><p>Lenore watches her from her seat, now stroking Cassius' tail as the cat has draped himself across her shoulders like a living stole. Amusement turns the corners of her mouth when Morana steps up onto the balcony railing, pauses, and then steps off to blink out of sight. Lenore turns to Cassius, playfully pouting. "Can you believe she didn't even say goodbye? Terribly rude, isn't she?" and of course the cat says nothing, perfectly pacified with being pet, so he didn't have to care about anything else.</p><p>Lenore will eventually stand, following her sister's steps to the balcony. Of course there is no trace of Morana, just as there is no knowing how far away she is by now even if it has barely been a moment since she vanished. She briefly scans the vista, focusing on an imaginary point on the horizon as she thinks. Her consciousness stretches, the red of her irises steadily brightening as her thoughts go searching for something. Then her head is filled with a soft echo of rushing wind, almost tangible. She closes her eyes, not finding the darkness of behind the lids, but diffused phantoms of what is likely things one of her owls is seeing.</p><p><em>Help mommy keep an eye on Morana, won't you?</em> And while it is a kindness to frame it as a request, it is certainly an order. With a gentle flex of Lenore's supernatural hold on the animal's mind, it obeys.</p><p>With that done, Lenore retires to her chambers, keeping a gentle but secure hold on the mental tether between her and her pet.</p><p> </p><p>(--)</p><p>Striga is confident she can make it to the palace long before sunrise, as the trail leads out of a dense patch of forest and into an open field at the foot of the mountains that conceal her destination among the snowy peaks. Soon,<em> so</em> <em>soon</em>, she would be at Morana's side again, and <em>oh</em> how she means to kiss her.</p><p>Perhaps it was being so wrapped up in that thought, her attention far more centered on Morana than her surroundings, that had distracted her just enough to miss the compounding rumble coming up fast behind her. Seven horses, one strangely without a rider, and an entire pack of wolves led by an exceptionally large one covered in dark red fur, come barreling out of the trees but a moment after Striga. They give chase in a sort of formation, wolves at the front with riders behind, and all of those that resemble human have a weapon drawn. The rider at the front lifts a crossbow, hand steady as stone, and pulls the trigger.</p><p>Striga hears the whistle, reflexively jerking her head to the side to let it fly by. She quickly twists around, eyes widening in shock and fury at what she finds gaining ground behind her.</p><p>
  <em>They fucking followed me! Why, when they could have just killed me in my sleep?</em>
</p><p>Because why kill one vampire when you can let it lead you to where it nests, where you can kill more?</p><p>With a spiteful snarl, Striga reaches for her bow and a handful of arrows, quick to twist around, put them to the draw, and release them all. The volley breaks up their formation, striking one in the chest and another in the neck, dismounting them, but their ranks are quick to close and those wolves are only closing the gap that much faster. A second volley, three shots, one of the smaller wolves collapsing with a curt yelp as an arrow pierces its skull. There's not enough time for a third, and Striga turns back to give her horse's ribs a solid kick. She knows they will follow, so she pulls off the road and makes to turn around.</p><p>The big red wolf growls unnaturally, loud enough for even Striga to make out over the sound of galloping hooves, and the entire pack moves as one to cut her off. One wolf lunges, misses and just clips across Striga's back. Another goes for the horse's legs, but Striga's mount is well trained and pulls off a short leap, just enough for the predator to pass underneath. Now the forest is in front of Striga again, and she knows if she can make it to the trees that she will have a significant advantage. Another crossbow bolt sings by, just missing Striga's throat. Mercy, what a shot.</p><p>The larger wolf lunges, wholly throwing itself into Striga's horse, tearing the animal and its rider to the ground in a tangle of limbs and snarling and frantic baying. Before Striga can even fully comprehend what just happened, the phantom spinning of her fall tearing at her consciousness, she finds herself surrounded by teeth. Jaws are closing all around, ripping into armor and leather and cloth, pulling, tearing, dragging to reach flesh until there's purchase. Claws find the collar of her breastplate and <em>pull</em>, most of the clasps keeping the piece in place snapping like twigs. Striga feels the exposure, the vulnerability, and reflexively retaliates in a wild burst of dark, magical energy.</p><p>The air ripples, more like shudders, and it does so tangibly to any of the wolves that are close enough. Striga twists around, as does the entirety of her form like it is suddenly little more than smoke. Her shape contorts and darkens and swells, becoming a stretching, looming shadow that is wholly nondescript save for the piercing toxicity of shimmering, solid green eyes. That shadow solidifies, stepping into corporeality, crushing against the ground with impossible weight and girth on four massive, taloned paws. The vampire rips through the pitch membrane concealing her shape, the glamor coming to completion with yawning jaws full of fangs and a bellowing roar. The bear charges, lurching after the wolves, butchering two of them with but a single whistling swipe of its paw.</p><p>The hunters fire more bolts towards the monstrous bear, the hide tough enough for them to glance off of if they even find a mark. Wolves lunge and latch on by the teeth, being jerked about like rag dolls as the bear twists and reaches to pull them loose. One of the smaller ones gets caught in the bear's paw, its spine snapping when it's slammed to the ground. The large red one is waiting, stalking just out of reach, looking for the right opportunity.</p><p>The hunters have started riding in circles, forcing close quarters. One produces a lasso, one powerful swing of an arm sending it flying towards the bear when the creature stands upright, now impossibly tall. But it's enough, the loop briefly snagging the bear's snout before dropping around its neck. The hunter wraps the slack around the horn of the saddle and breaks formation, the horse breaking into an incredible sprint. The slack snaps taught, the loop pulls <em>tight</em>, and the bear bellows madly into the night before being torn to the ground.</p><p>The transformation collapses in an instantaneous <em>POOF</em> of black smoke and shadow as panic reflexively washes over Striga's mind. Hemp is biting relentlessly around the suffocatingly small space where her jaw and neck meet, and earth and stone grate against her back as the horse continues to drag her along. The rope is too tight to get her fingers around though her hands feverishly claw at it, her chest heaving for air that she <em>knows</em> she doesn't need but can't stop struggling for. She forces her eyes open, to focus, and her tunneled gaze falls on the enormous red wolf now running her down. It snatches her by the ankle, fangs punching through leather and hitting bone; Striga can't even scream, her vocal chords simply refuse to function.</p><p>All she can do is reach for a blade, unsure if it's her knife or her sword and unable to care. She blindly swings once she feels the separation of steel and leather, thankful the blade is long enough to clip the wolf across the eyes and make it let go with a shrill squall. But it doesn't give up the chase, and instead redoubles its efforts with a burst of speed in an attempt to trap her sword arm in its jaws. She swings again, making the animal recoil a second time, but then Striga feels the unforgiving force of a stone smacking the top of her head, and before she could comprehend that radiating pain, there were fangs in her wrist, locking her grip. Now the wolf is trying to pull her too, threatening to tear her arm clean out of the socket. If her neck doesn't give out first.</p><p><em>Can't breathe...you don't need to breathe...<b>Can't. Breathe</b></em> ... <em> <b>You are. Already. Dead.</b> </em></p><p>The five remaining hunters are following now, reloading crossbows or drawing blades. Then there's a flash, the crackle of lightning and the stink of ozone, and once her vision clears, Striga hones in on the bright tendrils of light arcing between one of the hunter's hands. A magician.</p><p>It's desperate, it might not work, but Striga has next to no options; she calls fire to her other hand, hoping against hope that it's strong enough, and swings to slap the big red wolf in the face. It shrieks and releases its hold, stumbling. Its <em>shape</em> wavers, collapses and contorts, becomes humanoid, and then it's chasing her down again, now with hands and hooked, taloned fingers. It still has fangs, and the dark red fur has gathered into a mane of wild, coiled hair. Striga comprehends the maddened snarl, one glaring, slitted eye as the other has ruptured from the heat; it's a <em>vampire.</em></p><p>Without a second thought, her mind surprisingly clear for an instant, Striga finds and draws her bear knife. Then she mentally prays, the words cracking to pieces in her mind at the pain in her sword arm as she tries a wide swing over her head. The blade slices the rope, her body grinding to a stop, and she scrambles to her feet.</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>Morana seems to appear out of nowhere, materializing in the moonlight atop a cluster of large stones at the roots of a smaller peak. Straightening she takes a quick, stabilizing breath, her body buzzing with her pulse and laced with adrenaline. She feels a bit better now, having burned some of that "nervous energy" Lenore had talked about by moving as quickly as she was physically able through the mountain pass to reach the valley. It had felt good, like she not only stretched her physical self, but her entire being. Truly refreshing.</p><p>But that nagging still hangs on her, that sharp suspicion that she needs to be somewhere. She had followed it here, but doing so had provided no insight as to the purpose of its lingering pressure. It isn't often that she feels such a visceral, instinctive draw towards something like this. She scowls at the midnight horizon ahead, thinking, until there's a bright flicker that draws her eyes for the brief instant that it's there. Her scowls turns curious...there it is again. That...couldn't be...magic?</p><p>
  <em>What on earth...</em>
</p><p>The rumble of hooves breaks the midnight quiet, drawing Morana's attention out of her own head and towards the source of the sound. A lone horse, bridled and saddled, was galloping her way, and it takes her a moment to really accept that she recognized it -<em>Striga's horse</em>. Her eyes widen at the sensation of her ribs threatening to collapse inward, and her heart jerks in an attempt to keep them in place. She doesn't know what this could possibly mean, but she knows there is no time to dissect the matter at present. She jumps down from the stones and briefly blinks out of sight, supernatural swiftness carrying her over the distance between her and the horse where she reappears. It squalls and shies and kicks, but Morana is able to take hold of the reins and bring it to heel. Certain it will stay now that it has settled, Morana all but vanishes, moving as quickly as she can in the direction the horse had been fleeing from.</p><p> </p><p>Striga killed another hunter when they were close enough, ripping her arm out of a wolf's jaws to hurl her big knife and split a man's skull clean in half. Before the body can tumble out of the saddle, Striga is giving her attention back to the wolves, now swinging her longsword with both hands, cleaving three of them in quick succession when they come at her. But she doesn't stop there; the other hunters are closing in. And where did that vampire disappear to?</p><p>Striga is quickly reminded. She feels a flicker of shifting energy and the slightest draft of moving air, then weight at her shoulders, dropping hard and then bracing in the instant before the lasso snaps tight again. The vampire took hold of the slack and is bracing against Striga's back. The panic is just as fresh as before, just as jarring, and Striga almost topples over when her back bends into a frighteningly sharp arch. Her hands reflexively go for her own neck, leaving her defenseless against a swinging blade and a pair of crossbow bolts. It's a miracle that the bolts didn't pierce her heart, but still found deep seated marks in her gut, and the blade split her navel, the burn of silver plating leaving her undead flesh hissing with corrosion. A roar of pain splits the night, tears of blood rolling down Striga's face, just as it rolls down her legs from the fresh wound in her belly. It's taking every ounce of strength and focus she can muster to stay upright, knowing if she falls now that she's as good as dust.</p><p>Striga manages to force her hands to work, to do something productive, and reaches back as far as she is able. Her free hand finds the other vampire's ankle and grips tight, pulling <em>pulling <b>pulling</b></em> until the weight shifts and drops, giving Striga leverage to swing hard and throw them. They bounce several times before rolling to a stop some yards away. By now the still mounted hunters are circling back, likely meaning to kill her outright this time. She roughly wipes the blood from her eyes and grips her sword, then flickers out of sight from a burst of uncanny movement. When she reappears, her posture and positioning is that of a completed swipe of her sword, the blade doused in blood, and behind her, one of the horses splits in a shower of moonlit crimson from breast to backside. The rider's legs were cut off below the knee, the man screaming as the animal underneath him collapses into two halves and a pile of viscera.</p><p>In the next instant, the other vampire is on her again, Striga twisting to meet them as something sharp sinks between her ribs beneath her arm. Her free hand drops and grabs their wrist, keeping them in place because she knows if she doesn't, they might not miss the next time. Striga tries to run them through, her own hand stopped in much the same fashion, talons piercing her bracer and lancing her already wounded wrist. They're stuck together, fangs and eyes flashing madly as they push and pull against one another, knowing one would have to give eventually. Striga's body burns and shakes with pain and effort, but she refuses to cave.</p><p>But those other hunters are coming back again...</p><p> </p><p>Two of the three remaining hunters dismount. One of those on foot is the magician, and his hands begin moving wildly as light gathers at his fingertips, the other draws a second blade and lunges into a quick advance towards the two vampires. The third is reloading his crossbow, the mechanism cracking loudly before he lays the bolt in place. He raises his hand and lays his finger against the thin metal trigger, lining up the shot. Then there's a rush of air around him, followed by a sudden, consuming burning in his throat. Then the light leaves his eyes as blood starts gushing from the clean and splitting wound beneath his jaw. Without a sound he slumps over the saddle, dead. Morana's abrupt materialization spooks the horse, the corpse tumbling to the ground when it rears up on two legs before bolting.</p><p>Morana senses she has the advantage, even the magician that is but a few yards away has yet to acknowledge her presence, and she is quick to keep the momentum. She moves swiftly, with purpose, talons ready as she zeroes in on the back of one of the hunters. Her hand easily pushes into flesh, an open seam in the hunter's armor where the breastplate and his heavy leather belt meet, and her claws make way for her fingers to tightly grip the broad base of his spine. Morana plants her feet and <em>rips</em> her arm back, feeling the distinct jerk of disconnecting tissue and bone as she liberates the entire column of vertebra from the hunter's body. Bright, hot and steaming blood splash across her body, her open mouth able to catch a thick string of it as she bares her fangs. Now the magician has his eyes on her, the light in his fingertips surging bright and snapping to fill the space between his hands.</p><p>Morana stands her ground, her eyes meeting his, both reflecting the staggering azure light and waiting. The magician's eyes clip to the side, towards the other vampires, and just as quickly come back to center. The magic surges bigger, brighter, the arcs of electricity now churning like serpents around a solid orb of energy. Morana hisses low and slow, her slitted pupils impossibly thin and all but daring him to move. She watches his eyes break away again, and knows. The two move in unison but, of course, a vampire is so much faster.</p><p>Just as the gathered magic leaves his hands in a jagged beam of light and sound, Morana appears in its path, her hands out in front of her as if she means to simply catch it. And, in a way, she does. Her body bends around a just tangible impact, a hot pain crackling across her nerves as the magic tries to force its way through her. Though it hurts, the pain building and building, her body heating up and the blood on her skin starting to bubble, she holds on, letting the energy course through her without letting it go. She relishes in the confusion and fear that dances across the magician's face as he merely watches, the spell having been completely torn from his control. Morana wrests the electricity with her will, brings it to heel. She spares a single, brief glance over her shoulder, marking a target, and then extends her arms -one towards the magician and the other angled behind. The magic pulses hot and hard, finding its path and splitting between the ends of Morana's fingers.</p><p>She misses -god damn it, she <em>misses</em>- but it didn't matter, the tactic served its purpose all the same. The magician is knocked off balance in his hurry to avoid being struck, leaving Morana the opening she needed to quickly move in. True to form she goes for the throat, quickly devouring all she saw fit to drink before tearing the entirety of his neck out in a bloody mess of tendons and cartilage. The pounding pain in her body is starting to ease, the sizzling she feels beneath her skin calming, though her form still gives off steady tendrils of steam.</p><p>The other end of the spell succeeds as well, in its own way. It makes room for Striga to save herself, as the vampire she is locked in stalemate with reacts much like their compatriot had. It shies and avoids the spell, their hold wavering for all of a second. Striga adjusts enough, now pushing against the wrist she holds, tearing the silver stake from her ribs and forcing it towards the other vampire's chest. It's enough; with a desperate, grinding roar it's enough to put it through their armor, the iron caving and breaking under the force. Then Striga forces her sword arm free and swings, cleanly relieving the vampire of their head. Striga's chest heaves, her body shakes, and she watches with wild eyes as the remains ignite, flash, and then smolder into a dark pile of ashes at her feet.</p><p>Her vision is tunneled, adrenaline pounding through her at the behest of her frantic heart, her heaving breaths coming out as billowing steam for the accumulated heat in her body. Her head quickly goes one way, then the other, instinctively looking for another target. There's a little sound, a pitiful whimper that catches her attention; it's the hunter that's missing his legs. Her wounds throb at the idea that he's still alive, and she stalks over to him with heavy steps. She thrusts her sword in the dirt to keep it accessible and free up her hands before she pounces on him, one hand pulling his shoulder down and the other forcing his head back to give her fangs plenty of room to find his throat. There isn't much blood left, but he's young, strong, and it's enough to set her body to healing like it should in spite of the residual silver in her system. When he expires she straightens, looming over him briefly before reclaiming her sword and decapitating the corpse. Old habit. Then, quickly, she yanks the crossbow bolts from her gut, covering the steadily sealing wounds with her off hand.</p><p>"Striga,"</p><p>Her gaze snaps up, immediately finding the gentle blue eye shine. Striga's instincts tell her to stay alert, that the danger hasn't passed, and her mind is struggling to pierce the frantic fog to assure her that there is no threat here. Well, no threat to <em>herself</em> anyway.</p><p>Morana approaches carefully, sensing the lingering tension of...everything still hanging in the air around them. While she holds Striga's wild, green and crimson eyes, her peripherals are keenly aware of Striga's hands, primarily the glimmer of the longsword on the moonlight. Morana knows she will still if the blade moves, even if it's but an inch. Slowly, silently, Morana closes the space between them, until she is able to reach out and slip one hand over the wrist of Striga's sword arm, no grip, no pressure, just there and sliding against the slick stick of blood on leather.</p><p>"It's all right." Morana all but whispers, looking up into those eyes, the vicious snarl. This close, she can see the tiny tremors wracking Striga's body. "It's over. Let's go home."</p><p>Striga blinks, a brief flicker of confusion, and then the air in her lungs comes out in an abrupt rush of still warm breath as she appears to relax a little. "Yes." she exhales. "Home." and then a stiff nod.</p><p>As Striga lowers her blade, even dropping it to pull Morana against her, an owl hoots from the nearby treeline.</p><p> </p><p><span class="u"> Author's Notes: </span> So yeah, there's that. Morana's a badass, something I have been eager to explore for some time. Hope everyone enjoyed it as much as I did, and there's more badassery in store at Morana's courtesy -at least that's what I intend. Thanks for reading!</p>
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<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter Nineteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Striga feels <em>weak</em> and her head is full of a heavy haze that creates the sensation of being only half there. She has felt this way before, particularly after hard fought battles in the past, but it had been a number of years, maybe even decades since it last crept over her. She is thankful for Morana, though she hasn't found the faculties to say so yet. She helps Striga sheath her sword and recover her knife, keeps close to her and keeps her somewhat grounded. Morana speaks to her, but Striga simply cannot focus enough to really hear any of it. She absently hopes it's nothing too important.</p><p>Morana is trying to tell her that her horse is not far and that they should hurry on as there were only so many hours left until dawn, reminding Striga that the road back to the palace is long. She worries quietly, unsettled by the soft but yawning distance in Striga's eyes. She appears calmer now, not necessarily <em>well</em> but not actively stressed either, but the sclera of her eyes is still dark red. Striga doesn't answer anything she says, doesn't appear to even notice that she speaks at all. If she wasn't already so accustomed to the sight of blood, the amount of it splashed across her sister's tattered and battered form would worry Morana as well.</p><p>Finally, as the two of them step over the last of the bodies, Morana puts herself in front of Striga, a palm at the brass buckle of Striga's belt. She wants to be certain Striga is listening, <em>hearing</em> her. "Call for your horse."</p><p>It takes a beat or two until Striga blinks once and then nods a few times. She tucks her bottom lip just so and then the air splits with a high pitched, powerful whistle. Striga is scanning the open field around them, listening as the echo dissipates, until she can make out hooves. She nods again, turns back and tucks her chin to look down. That great distance in her gaze seems to collapse and focus, her copper speckled brow knitting tightly. "You're covered in blood," she says at last, voice dry and cracking.</p><p>"It's not mine." Morana quickly assures her, but not without the smallest, self satisfied smirk. "But you,"</p><p>"I have been through worse," although, in her daze, she isn't sure how true that is.</p><p>"That isn't," Morana loses what she means to say, suddenly unsure of what it would have been. Her brow furrows, her face now full of worry and something like sympathy. She spies the rope still about Striga's neck and thoughtlessly reaches for it, only for Striga to jerk out of reach with a reactive snarl.</p><p>Her defensiveness dissolves in an instant, replaced with fumbling penitence. "I...I-I am sorry. I-,"</p><p>"It's all right." Morana says quickly.</p><p>Striga thinks to say something else, feels like she hadn't proved she was sorry enough, but her thoughts come undone and fizzle out like smoke on the wind. Perhaps Morana sees her dismay, understands it, as she carefully takes one of Striga's big hands in both of her own and squeezes. She doesn't let go until Striga's horse comes trotting up to them.</p><p>Striga encourages Morana to mount first, holding the reins steady and gently, silently pushing against her lower back. Morana follows without argument, though obviously puzzled by the behavior. Striga then passes the reins to her before pulling herself up with a tight grunt at the crackle of pain through her body. Striga settles just behind her, one hand bracing on the animal's rump and an arm going about Morana's waist for the sake of safety as well as the shred of comfort it brings her. She'll nod to Morana when she looks back, and then the reins pop and the horse starts moving.</p><p>Morana is careful to go too fast too suddenly, but doesn't tarry getting the horse up to speed. Time was a luxury they simply didn't have. As the horse's pace steadily increases to a gallop, so too does Striga's arm tighten about her middle. Striga seems to lean against her, curling over her back, her frame all but swallowing her; under any other circumstances, Morana would relish the feeling. Now it only seems to stoke the concern buzzing through her gut. Acknowledging that just forces her to face the entirety of her present emotional state, the conflict of knowing she should be happy that Striga is still alive while also being mortified by the events surrounding such a reunion. As far too often before, Morana had plans, and they meant absolutely nothing. Unsettling, to say the very least.</p><p>Striga is feeling something similar, when she has the clarity to. She hadn't planned on their first ride out in the night to be like this, to be a forced necessity instead of a pleasure. The thought only hangs long enough to make Striga scowl over it, but then both the thought and the expression are gone.</p><p>Perhaps a third of the way along the road, the air already thinner and colder, they come across Taubert and a posse of palace guards. When put to the question, the good captain explains that Lenore had sent them "to collect the remains". Morana and Striga look at each other quizzically, unable to understand how that was possible, until a flicker of a shadow crosses Morana's peripherals. Her gaze instinctively follows it, looking up and spotting the dark shape of an owl passing overhead. Now she understands, and the two parties part ways. Striga thinks to voice her concern about the approaching dawn, but withholds; surely Taubert knew what she was doing and could accomplish her task in time. Striga feels more confident in that idea when she spots the path and gates leading to the palace. Perhaps the road isn't as long as she remembered.</p><p>Passing through the gates, Morana can see the guard details have been doubled at the gates and along the walls. There's no surprise or confusion, but understanding that surely Carmilla is aware of the matter by now. Still, Morana feels the need to speak with her, discuss the matter in person once there is time; they needed to decide what to do next, if there was even a viable response to such an open attempt on a member of the council other than all out war. <em>No one shall harm my love and live.</em> And while none of those hunters still draw breath, Morana means to extend that harsh courtesy to anyone else they had conspired with, down their very bloodlines if necessary. But she does her best to smother the fury for now, as there would be a proper time and place for it later. She believes Striga's need for her is far greater than her own desire to entertain her anger at present.</p><p>An attendant is already waiting to take the horse when they come into the main courtyard, Morana eagerly passing off the reins and sliding out of the saddle to land smoothly on her feet. She offers Striga a helping hand, only a little surprised when she actually accepts. Her grip is tight and trusting, Striga's other arm still bracing the still livid sword wound at her navel as she navigates her way to her feet. Morana keeps a hold of her, though her grip shifts as their arms wind much like when they were last together. And just as it had been then, neither of them care who sees the way they walk together.</p><p>Striga feels her awareness threading again when Morana starts speaking, and her words steadily spool out into static. Something about being back, behind walls and closed doors, is making everything settle on her differently now. Perhaps now she is certain that the danger has passed, now something in her is trying to make her feel all the things she hadn't been able to because of adrenaline and the snap of the noose that still sits much too snugly around her neck. Her heart is starting to pound again, now that she thinks about it. But Striga says nothing, looking to pretend to listen and simply following Morana to wherever she seems to be leading -which, it would turn out, was Striga's chambers. Made perfect sense once Striga had the wherewithal to notice.</p><p>Morana guides Striga through her own door, the darkness within broken by the lightning glass once Morana switches it on.</p><p>"I am going to speak with Lenore and Carmilla, then I will come right back." it bothers her that Striga doesn't verbally respond, but the trouble is soothed when she does nod. "And I will arrange for blood to be sent, <em>please</em> drink it." Because the usual dusk around Striga's eyes is the darkest she has ever seen, and it is truly worrisome.</p><p>Another silent nod, Striga's eyes dropping and lingering on Morana's hands as they still hold her own. Then Morana is gone, the dull click of the closing door a stark reminder of how isolated she suddenly is. The room feels enormous, empty, somehow not quite real. Now she feels like she is standing beside herself, not so much half there as she had for the last little while, but more so split into mismatching halves; everything is disconnected and she can't remember how it's supposed to fit back together.</p><p>Striga tries her damnedest to focus, to find something her mind can keep hold of and use to guide her back into her own head. It starts with something simple, acknowledging the still strong odor of blood in her clothes. Yes, her clothes are filthy, tattered, she needed to get out of them. She drags her cloak from her shoulders, paying little heed to the cloudy swaths of bloodstains as she drops it thoughtlessly at her feet. She thinks to remove her breastplate next, then remembers it had been ripped off her fucking back. Her tunic, however, was still there, albeit just barely as it is properly ripped from the collar to her waist and split across just like her belly. She feels there's no saving it and just tears it the rest of the way, shrugging it off onto the floor just like her cloak. Then she goes for her gloves and bracers, wincing at the pain in her mangled wrist as she goes. They are eventually discarded to the floor as well, and then Striga is soundly distracted with spinning her ring, the friction of metal on skin a marginal comfort.</p><p>Striga unsteadily wanders away from the pile of clothes, her eyes down but distant again. She is only physically present now, her awareness just...isn't. She makes it into one of the chairs at the common table, lingers there long enough to pull her boots off and see the bruises in the shape of teeth starting to fade around her ankle before standing up again, her hand going back to twisting her ring. The cold marble beneath her now bare feet is an unexpected shock to her nerves, startling her mind, pulling her a little too fast and too hard back into herself, bringing her just shy of facing something she really, <em>really</em> doesn't want to face right now. And then she tenses, muscles and tendons bulging across her whole body, disturbing the stretch of rope still around her neck.</p><p>She stills, even her hands ceasing to move, and her face tightens into something savage and painful, the unconscious snarl breaking up the smear of dried blood around her mouth. Her very bones rattle with a low growl in her chest, the vibrations pushing against the arrhythmic jerking of her heart. She can't stop it, can't keep back the memories of sensations and emotions, not with this contemptible but so very real noose. But she can't move, can't will her hands to work to pull it off even as they hover mere inches away from it, fingers half curled with intent. Striga feels trapped in her own body, a horror she had hoped to never feel again. It's all consuming, and she loses herself to it.</p><p>This is how Morana finds her when she returns, visibly puzzled at the sight of her there in the middle of the room, simply standing and half undressed. But concern is quick to replace the confusion, Striga's injuries now laid bare for her to see and quietly lament -thankfully the bleeding had stopped, but the wounds still looked wet and raw and slow to close completely. As she approaches, her steps quiet and cautious, she spies the untouched pitcher of blood on the common table, and she isn't so much frustrated as she is troubled as to why her sister has yet to feed.</p><p>"Striga," she calls out softly, her worry spiking when she sees her wince, Striga's powerful shoulders bunching upward abruptly.</p><p>Morana's first thought is to touch her when she's close enough, but manages to restrain herself. She can sense what this might be, considering Striga might not even be aware of her presence, and if that's the case she can't imagine that unexpected contact would be welcome, much less tolerated. Instead she eases around to stand in front of her, offering a wide berth. She feels her heart clenching painfully at the sight of more wounds, the slice across Striga's belly drawing her gaze and sympathy the hardest, it's a mess of bruising and corroded flesh. Striga is smeared with sweat-sodden dirt and blood, too much of it her own, and something about it is so very <em>wrong</em>. Surely a well seasoned soldier is accustomed to such a state, but that didn't make Morana detest it any less.</p><p>"Striga," she tries again, her eyes now on her sister's trembling hands as they hover between them, "please, won't you open your eyes?"</p><p>Striga almost doesn't hear her over the blood pounding in her ears, but the threads of her voice that make it through the haze aren't startling, not like when Morana had called to her before just seconds ago. She knew Morana was here, her very presence feeling like soft static on the small hairs across her body, however, at present, even a soft buzz like that feels more akin to thorns raking her nerves. Still, she hears Morana, and attempts to heed, her muscles resisting against even something as small as parting her eyelids.</p><p>A fresh wave of crimson tears roll down along the hard lines of her face, quickly pooling and dripping from the end of her chin. Morana is mostly a blur in front of her, one that barely comes into focus after she blinks. Then she feels the delicate pressure of Morana's fingers around her hands, resisting the urge to tear away -because a part of her desperately wants her touch, and partly because her body is much too tight to move. Her own hands unconsciously clutch but never fully close around Morana's and she can't understand why, which only serves to stress her further.</p><p>"I...I can't," her words are strangled by her own tightened throat.</p><p>"It's all right, love," Morana doesn't appear to realize exactly what she has just said. "Let me help you."</p><p>The words hang in Striga's mind, starting to pull her out of her own head, but then Morana's hands start moving again, reaching up towards her neck. Striga's hands immediately snap around both her wrists, powerfully tight and nigh on painful, because no one else should touch <em>that</em> , not when all anyone has ever done to the rope is pull it <em>tighter</em>.</p><p>Morana doesn't make to retreat, even under the stabbing threat in Striga's eyes. "Please, trust me for just a moment. On my heart, I won't harm you."</p><p>Loosening her grip feels like pulling against the world, and Striga isn't able to completely let go. Instead, Morana's wrists slide through the hook of her fingers, and they don't go for the noose, not directly. First Morana gently cups Striga's face, just to hold her and perhaps try and reassure Striga that she is safe. It must have done something as it appears that Striga now focuses more intently <em>on</em> her as opposed to <em>through</em> her. After a few tense seconds, Morana pushes further back, her talons finding the knot situated against the base of Striga's skull. Carefully, slowly, she tries working it apart.</p><p>The scratch of hemp on skin is loud, louder than it should have been even by a vampire's reckoning, but the release of its weight about her neck is monumental. Striga releases the unnecessary breath she has been clinging to, her broad chest collapsing like the tension in her body. Small tears of blood spill down her cheeks as her eyes close briefly.</p><p>"Thank you." she shudders. "I'm sorry, I-," she stops, the apology seizing in her throat at the cool smoothness of Morana's palm on her cheek again. The pad of her thumb smears the fresher blood, wiping away at it.</p><p>"No need for apologies." Morana assures her softly. "You've been through enough." She discards the rope on the floor, just as she casts the idea of its existence from her mind. She sees the dark, clouded bruises across Striga's throat and feels the need to bare her fangs at...<em>someone</em>.</p><p>Striga wants to say something but can't. What Morana said...why did it mean so much? Mean so much coming from her? Regardless, her words carried a prodigious weight that made Striga's ribs clench. It's humbling now that she is able to feel it, and out of some unnameable urge, Striga raises her hand to settle over Morana's that still lingers against her face. Her thick fingers settle between Morana's, greatly dwarfing her much smaller hand. Morana readily bears the weight as Striga leans into her palm.</p><p>Striga feels Morana's free hand working cautiously into her own, and she's quick to snatch it up, bringing the knuckles to her lips to kiss. Her eyes are closed, nostrils flared as she breathes in, desperate for something to stimulate her other senses to make everything else more real -the smell of jasmine, of blood that isn't her own, and the slightest touch of smoke. There's a pop of her lips separating from skin, and then she's pulling Morana to her, angling Morana's arm over her shoulder so she can catch Morana about the waist and kiss her lips. No resistance, only gentle acceptance.</p><p>Somehow the world is more tangible when they come apart, Striga able to focus much more easily, actually take in and acknowledge everything around her. She knows where she is now, feels present, and can shift all that newly grounded awareness effortlessly onto Morana. She thinks Morana noticed the change as well, as she chances the smallest smile up at her. Striga swallows heavily at the tightness in her throat, feeling it lax a little, enough to feel confident in trying to speak.</p><p>"You are a mess, my lady."</p><p>Morana laughs, though quickly tries to suppress it. "As are you, decidedly more so, I'm afraid."</p><p>Striga hums and lilts her head in a missable way. "Are you all right?"</p><p>"I will be." All would be well in time, now that Striga was at her side once more. "You need to drink, and I will have the servants draw you a bath. Then you must rest."</p><p>Another hum and a slow nod. She's feeling the weakness from earlier creeping up again, the vulnerability, and it pushes her to make a timid sounding request. "Will you stay?"</p><p>Morana examines her for a moment, perhaps trying to discern whatever intent might be in her face that wasn't in her words. She isn't wholly sure she finds anything, but still agrees. "I will, as long as you wish."</p><p>Striga's answering smile is tired but sincere. She doesn't resist when Morana leads her to sit at the table, and takes her seat with a heavy exhale, her brain finally acknowledging her fatigue and the painful remnants of that horrible tension she had latched onto. When she realizes it's in reach, Striga stretches for her cloak, pulling up one of its corners in an attempt to somewhat clean her face. She mostly succeeds, leaving but a few splotches along her jawline.</p><p>Morana comes to sit with her by the time she drops the edge of the cloak back to the floor, pulling her chair around that they might be closer. She nudges the pitcher of blood in Striga's direction, glad when she simply nods and accepts it, and politely declines when Striga offers it to her first. "Your need is greater than mine."</p><p>"Is it? I know you said that blood is not yours," Striga takes a swig, her throat jumping several times as she swallows great mouthfuls. "But your hands, did the magician harm you?"</p><p>"In a way." Morana is looking at her hands now, unconsciously curious, finding her skin streaked with black and surprisingly tender with scorching that had yet to heal.</p><p>"I did not see what happened, but, clearly, you killed him."</p><p>Morana nods. "I turned his spell against him." Something selfish in her revels in the way shock steadily stretches Striga's features. "I told you before, my use of magic is rather...unusual."</p><p>Striga takes another long draw from the pitcher. "Are you of the mind to explain this time, perhaps?"</p><p>Morana nods, having to force it a little. She convinces herself it's better to talk, to focus on something other than the fact that Striga is shirtless in front of her and how now is not the time to think of <em>that</em>. "Simply put, I cannot produce magic on my own, but I can...hold onto it from an outside source, and use it until it is spent. Also, I am not afforded any protection from its effects, hence the scorching."</p><p>The surprise on Striga's face has shifted a little, taken on a different context with a change in the setting of her eyes. <em>She...put herself to harm for me...</em> Striga feels a sudden, lurching clutch in her heart, and just as suddenly, something in the way she sees Morana has changed, though she isn't entirely certain how. She takes a breath, thinks, takes another drink, then says with no small amount of reverence "You saved my life."</p><p>Morana feels blood filling her cheeks, unsure of how to answer. What was she supposed to say? You're Welcome? Though there's little thought behind what she does end up saying. "Suppose we are even, then?"</p><p>Striga blinks at her, momentarily confused. Then it clicks and she drops against the back of her chair and pushes a hand through her hair. "I...suppose we are." She remembers making what she had thought at the time was a needless agreement, and how she couldn't fathom the circumstance that Morana would repay her self-imposed life debt, yet here they are. Here they are, indeed. "You don't seem pleased." there's a touch of sarcasm in the comment.</p><p>"While I am glad to put the matter to rest, I was never burdened by the arrangement." Morana says plainly. "You could never be a burden to me."</p><p>There's that feeling again, like something about Morana is suddenly different. A shift in the light around her, more so the way Striga perceived her, and she cannot help but stare at her. Without thinking she asks "How did you know to come?"</p><p>"I didn't. I just...I feel that you'll have trouble believing me if I explain it."</p><p>"I beg that you try."</p><p>So she does, doing her best not to sound like some raving madwoman when she recounts the events of earlier this evening, starting with her anxiety upon waking. Several times throughout her explanation she assures Striga that it had been chance, or at most the behest of her instincts, that she had found her way down into the valley. She had no way of knowing about the ambush, and had only been able to reach Striga in time because she was able to swiftly decipher the meaning behind Striga's horse being strangely riderless while flashes of magic sparked in the distance.</p><p>"Lenore had one of her pets following me, that's how she was able to send Taubert." Morana says in a way that notes the end of the story.</p><p>"The owl?" Striga watches Morana nod, nodding herself with only partial understanding. Perhaps she would ask for the specifics another time. "What did she and Carmilla have to say about all this, anyway?"</p><p>"Carmilla assured me it could wait for tomorrow night...and said I should focus on taking care of you."</p><p>Striga reflexively scowls and scoffs. "I don't need a nurse." But that moment of bravado is quick to pass, recoiling like an injured hand when Morana lifts a single, sharp brow in her direction.</p><p>"If you wish me to leave,"</p><p>"No." Striga counters quickly, desperation hinting in her haste. "Please. I am sorry."</p><p>Morana's expression softens. "It is all right. You are weary and hurting."</p><p>Striga takes a moment, weighing her words without really meaning to, and then takes a deep breath only to release it. "I am." Somehow, having admitted it out loud made it more real and yet less of a struggle to endure. Surely she is still tired and in considerable pain, but now there's less guilt in it. Having Morana see her this way isn't as troubling. "But...I should never make you feel unwelcome or...unwanted."</p><p>"I only offered in regards to your comfort, I did not feel as though you were pushing me away."</p><p>"...Good." And Striga appears to shrink in a way, submissive, but no more than she feels she should to properly show her remorse.</p><p>The conversation stills for now, both of them feeling as though there isn't much else to say at present. There is no desire to speak more of what happened tonight, it's much too fresh and they are both still too raw from it, though Morana's reluctance is coming more from an emotional place than a physical one. She was afraid, she admits to herself; she had nearly lost Striga tonight. A second later and she could have succumbed to the hunters and left Morana with naught but a pile of ashes.</p><p>Just as immortality brought on a certain comfort -a certain complacency- so too did it bring a fear of death in equal measure, sudden and jarring as a bolt of lightning across a clear sky. Now all Morana wants is to gather Striga in her arms and shield her from the world, never let her out of her sight again, but, for now, she was satisfied with simply existing in this space, this moment with her. The rest would come in its own way on its own time.</p><p>The servants eventually arrive and go about their business, leaving the sisters in peace and with a now heated and steam filled bathroom. Morana encourages Striga to empty the pitcher before she rises from her seat, thankful that she doesn't argue and does so without a word. They get to their feet, but move in opposite directions, something that makes Striga stop and reach out to catch Morana gently by the arm.</p><p>Morana sees her questioning look. "Do you mean for me to remain soiled as I am?"</p><p>"Not at all."</p><p>"Then...what,"</p><p>"Stay." Striga says, her grip tightening a little. "Join me." she exhales unsteadily -<em>Oh my god, I said that</em>. "I have clothes you may borrow. I just...don't...want to be alone."</p><p>No more questions, she understands. "Very well."</p><p>But it's only after the two of them walk into the bathroom and the door closes does Morana feel the full impact of what she has agreed to. She hopes it doesn't show, but anticipation literally vibrates through her, makes her legs shake beneath her as she walks with Striga across the marble floor towards the wooden bench and the big, full tub just beyond it.</p><p>"Would...do you feel up to tying my hair?" Striga asks, smiling when Morana nods, seeming happy to agree.</p><p>Striga sits on the bench, the wood creaking, and takes a short moment to absorb the feeling of Morana against her back, her body unexpectedly warm against her skin. The bristling, electric sensation of gentle talons against her scalp softens her immediately, makes her tender body rumble with a pleasured hum. It takes too little time for her liking, Morana's hands quick and precise from centuries of practice, but she still thanks her and tries to smile as she acknowledges just how starved she had been for Morana's touch. Striga starts untying the binding across her bust as Morana comes to sit next to her.</p><p>It only feels polite to sit as far from Striga as possible, and to turn somewhat away as Morana goes to push her boots off and set them neatly beside the bench. Yes, she had been invited, surely under the assumption that they would be seeing each other naked, but that was not consent to be ogled; at least that is what Morana tells herself as she goes through the motions of tying her own hair up. Confident the tight bun will stay put, Morana takes a silent, stabilizing breath before pulling her shirt up and off.</p><p>Striga, on the other hand, is only convincing herself that she isn't ogling Morana, simply appreciating her, as ogling, as she understood it, required staring. Striga stole seconds-long glances, marking the shadows and lines of muscles in Morana's shoulders and along the dip of her spine. There's phantom splotches of redness all across her skin, likely left from whatever magical energy she had taken and turned against the hunters. She finds herself in awe again; Morana had put herself in danger for Striga's sake. After a moment, Striga shakes her head and continues unwinding the binding around her breasts after stealing one last glance.</p><p>Both of them jump at the sudden, resounding metallic chime that echoes through the room. Morana's arms cross her chest as she quickly twists around, unable to ignore the instinct to investigate the source of the noise. Striga is already picking the single coin off the ground, setting it atop a folded page of parchment on the bench.</p><p>"What is...?" Morana looks at the token and then up to meet Striga's gaze, brows furrowed and curious.</p><p>"You gave that to me, remember?" Striga smirks briefly. "And that is the letter you wrote."</p><p>Morana knows she's blushing again and, frankly, does not give a damn that Striga is looking directly at her and probably sees it. Her heart is beating much too quickly for her to care. "You kept them with you?"</p><p>Striga gives a little, breathy laugh, "I know I don't seem like the sort to keep mementos", then she stands up and starts to loosen her trousers. She can hear Morana turning away again as she pushes them down her long, toned legs, resisting the urge to laugh again; for having been so forward with her physical attraction before, Morana was being awfully proper now. Then again, this wasn't...this is different. Though the tone of the situation has relaxed a great deal compared to when she had first returned to the palace, it was still taught with a form of anxiety. One doesn't flirt in times like these, she supposed. In any case, after kicking the garment off and out of the way, Striga snatches a folded cloth from the stack on the end of the bench closest to her and climbs into the tub, hissing and wincing at the heat against her still knitting wounds. Though even the worst of them have now closed, resembling thick, gray and pink scars, they are still rather sensitive.</p><p><em>This doesn't have to be the big production you're trying to make it. She wishes for your company, the comfort of your presence, likely nothing more.</em> Morana thinks loudly to herself, expecting it to do something for her nervousness and being left mostly disappointed. She scowls at her hands as they shake even the slightest bit; never before had taking off trousers been such a <em>chore</em>.</p><p>Striga appears to busy herself with washing, though she is perfectly aware of Morana in her peripherals. Her eyes are naturally drawn to her as the only moving thing in the room other than herself, but she refuses to disregard her desire to look. Morana is a beautiful woman, and seeing her this way is only reinforcing that fact. And though her hands are occupied, they still feel noticeably empty. Still, she maintains the platonic illusion until Morana circles round the tub, eyes on her in a curious way.</p><p>"Where would you,"</p><p>"Anywhere. There is room for you."</p><p>And there certainly is. Striga finds some amusement in the exceptionally proper looking way she climbs in, sitting on the edge and tucking her legs up, keeping her thighs together as she turns to dip both feet into the water. Striga lets herself grin when Morana settles between her knees and with her back to her, partly because of how high the water rises around her, nearly covering Morana's shoulders. Without a word Striga will pass her the cloth she had been washing with, glad Morana takes it with quiet thanks, and then she lounges back to appreciate the view, only feeling marginally rude.</p><p>"Your heart is racing, my lady." She says softly after a moment, her grin audible.</p><p>"As is yours." Morana answers smoothly, grinning to herself even though she cannot see the way Striga blinks with realization. "Though I hope it is for more pleasant reasons now."</p><p>"Hm. Perhaps." Striga is surprised at how suggestive she sounds, almost playful. "It <em>is</em> nice to be home again."</p><p>Morana actually laughs, softly. "Is that all?"</p><p>"Suppose I am easy to please."</p><p>Morana smiles to herself and shakes her head a little, continuing to wash the last of the blackness and blood from her skin. When she feels satisfied, she drapes the cloth across the back of her neck and takes a moment to simply be, a deep breath making her frame expand and contract. The silence hangs heavily in the room, but not in an unpleasant way. There's security in the quiet, a certain serenity.</p><p>There are little splashes behind her as the water is disturbed with movement.</p><p>"May I hold you?" Striga asks, her voice just above a whisper, like she is trying not to startle her.</p><p>"Please." comes an equally soft reply. And no sooner does Morana speak does she feel powerful arms slipping around her middle and pulling her back, lining her against Striga's broad chest and cinching with just enough pressure to keep her there. Morana surrenders to her embrace, comfort washing over her as her hands settle over Striga's and her head tips back, Striga's lips unexpectedly planting a lingering kiss against her hair.</p><p>Morana sighs, eyes closed as she relishes this feeling, like everything is finally right again; the council is whole, the castle no longer empty, and here she is in Striga's arms once more.</p><p>The quiet returns, this time light and soothingly soft. Morana feels Striga's heart between her shoulders, strangely in time with her own. The slightest, briefest peek lets her see the light from the lightning glass reflected in the water's surface, how it gently, rhythmically shudders with their joint pulse. She shifts a little, tilting her head that she might let if fall back further, resting against Striga's shoulder, and is granted another kiss, this one on the temple.</p><p>"Did you mean it?" Morana asks. "When you said it was nice to be home?" Then she feels her body rise and fall with Striga's chest, a little thrill sparking through her.</p><p>"Hmm." She hums, her cheek resting against Morana's hair. "Do you not believe me?"</p><p>"It's not that. I just...I remember what you said, how you haven't felt at home in a long time."</p><p>A strain of quiet, this one more anxious than the last. "Yes, I did say that."</p><p>"So...does that stand to reason...that you do?"</p><p>Striga takes her time answering, sensing there's more to the question. Now that she considers it, perhaps there had been more to what she had said herself as well. It wasn't about the place, the space she inhabited, that much she is sure of. Perhaps Morana was also keen to the idea and was begging for some sort of validation. Perhaps she wasn't just asking about her feelings, but about what had caused them in the first place. If that's the case, Striga already knows the answer.</p><p>"I think...I am beginning to, yes."</p><p>"Good."</p><p>"...Because of you." Striga feels a flicker of tension in her arms, in Morana's body as it lays against her, there and gone again. "As ridiculous as that may sound,"</p><p>"It doesn't sound ridiculous at all." Morana has to speak around a newly formed tightness in her throat. "A home doesn't have to be a place, it could be a person."</p><p>"Indeed, as I am coming to discover." Striga realizes she's smiling and chooses to hold onto it, acknowledging that she is, in fact, rather happy. She kisses Morana again, once more on the temple, letting her lips linger there a little longer than before. Then her smile widens gently. "Your heart is beating faster."</p><p>"So it is." no explanation, no defense, simply acceptance of fact. "Suppose I also think it is nice that you are home again."</p><p>"I had considered that." Striga's body jumps with a soft and breathy laugh, and she doesn't miss how her breath appears to bring goosebumps to Morana's skin. "It's...good to feel wanted."</p><p>Morana turns her head, her forehead pressing into Striga's jaw, and one of her hands rises from the water to cup Striga's cheek. "I always want you near me."</p><p>Striga feels her heart clench, bringing a tightness to her throat and a mild burn to her eyes almost immediately. She wants to say something, feeling like she should offer some sort of response, but she isn't confident any words will make it out. She tightens her grip and holds Morana closer, hoping she understands.</p><p>They are reluctant to leave the tub when the time comes, the water eventually becoming too tepid to enjoy. Striga insists on fetching a towel for Morana, and is out of the tub with water splashing to the floor before Morana can argue against it. There's a playful frustration on the good lady's face when Striga offers a hand to help her out of the tub, the towel draped over her other arm, and Striga smirks back at her as she takes her hand. Striga wraps her up, not caring that she doesn't have to as she simply wishes to, and then leaves Morana to dry herself in order to fetch her own towel.</p><p>Now out of the water, out of that half-gravity, Striga feels the heaviness of her fatigue surge through her in full force. Mercy, she was exhausted. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so...frail, but she does her best not to let it show, keeping her back straight and shoulders square in spite of how badly she just wants to <em>sag</em>. Though it's easier when Morana takes her arm and smiles up at her when their gazes meet, and they walk together back out into the common area of her chambers.</p><p>Striga tosses her towel over the back of one of the chairs when they pass the table. Then her attention turns to the foot of her bed, the still open chest there, and her brow furrows at its noticeable emptiness. Then she remembers, thinking someone must have put all her clothes in the wardrobe where they were supposed to be. By the same token, Striga notices her once empty bookshelves are no longer vacant, though far from full. She smiles to herself, quietly pleased. "Did you spend much time in here while I was away?"</p><p>"Not as much you might think. After a fashion I would start to miss you too much."</p><p>Striga simply nods, mentally changing the subject. "Suppose one of my shirts will do for a day, though it will likely be more of a gown on you." Striga half laughs, pulling open one side of the wardrobe.</p><p>"I believe I will manage." Morana laughs as well, though unsteadily. The situation is feeling suddenly very real again. Striga really expected her to sleep here today, to which Morana had knowingly agreed, but now, having to face it leaves her anxious in a way she hadn't expected.</p><p>"Here, since this one seems to be your favorite,"</p><p>Another little laugh when Striga hands her the wine red tunic with the high cut sleeves. "It's my favorite <em>on you</em>, but I will wear it all the same, and with gratitude."</p><p>Striga nods and lets her take it, turning away when she sees Morana starting to pull her towel off.</p><p>Morana thinks it best to just do as Striga had done with her towel and drape it over the back of one of the other chairs, then promptly attempts to put on the tunic. She certainly cannot wear it as her sister does, otherwise the wide collar would slip right off her shoulders and hit the floor at her feet. She would surely feel <em>and look</em> ridiculous. She has to drape it at an angle, hanging from one shoulder while the open collar threatened to expose a breast -not that it much mattered now that they had seen each other bare. The hem reached her knees and it looked to actually have sleeves in accordance to her shorter limbs.</p><p>"There I...what are you doing?"</p><p>Striga is crouched by the fireplace, feeding it logs by hand with an intent to start a fire. "I mean to sleep."</p><p>"Striga,"</p><p>Her response is swift, almost biting. "I'm not arguing about this with you, not now. I. Am. <em>Tired</em>."</p><p>"Yes, and you need proper rest <em>in a proper bed</em>," Morana makes an effort to keep her tone soft, pleading as opposed to demanding.</p><p>"Morana,"</p><p>"If not for your own sake then for mine."</p><p>"I do not expect you to-,"</p><p>"<em>Please</em>, won't you allow yourself <em>a little</em> comfort? Just for today?"</p><p>Striga pivots on the balls of her feet, ready to grumble and growl some sort of retort until she meets Morana's eyes and sees the genuine concern filling them. It's a very real, tangible worry that Striga feels trying to worm its way into her, to soften her. If she had claimed it wasn't working, she would be lying.</p><p>Striga shrugs, her expression one of weary resignation. "As you wish."</p><p>"Thank you." and she sounds truly relieved.</p><p>"But I intend to have my fire." Striga says resolutely.</p><p>"Of course. Would you like for me to turn out the lights?"</p><p>"If you please."</p><p>The room goes dark -save for the makings of sunrise beneath the curtains- before Striga can get the fire going, but it isn't long until the hazy darkness is cut away by tongues of crimson and gold flames. By the time Striga stands again, satisfied that the flames will keep, she turns to find Morana already turning down the blankets. With a another shrug, this one much quieter, she approaches the bed.</p><p>"I'm sorry my pillows aren't nearly as fat as yours."</p><p>"Perhaps," Morana smiles at her, "but you are here, so I doubt I'll have any trouble."</p><p>Striga shakes her head with a chuff and a smirk, then takes a moment to stand by the bed and simply look at it. After a second or two she starts feeling rather silly, so caught up in her own head over a bed, and it takes Morana patting the empty space on the mattress in front of her to snap Striga out of it. She asks Morana to untie her hair as she sits, eager to feel her tender talons on her scalp again when she agrees. When the bun comes undone, Morana lets Striga's hair down slowly, the back of her fingers gliding along Striga's spine and pulling something like a purr from the larger vampire.</p><p>Surprisingly, the softness beneath her is not off-putting, in fact it's rather tempting. It begs Striga to lay back, test the pillows, which she does without any prompting outside her own. She all but collapses against a pile of down feathers dressed in linen, the fabric noticeably cool against her skin. Her weight pulls her down into the soothing softness surrounding her, and already she feels her eyes are harder to keep open.</p><p>"Perhaps I could hold you now?" Morana is pulling up the blankets, smiling with contentment as well as a little self satisfaction. Seeing Striga already looking so drowsy is admittedly validating for her.</p><p>"Perhaps." the answer is slurred and thoughtless, and only makes Morana smile wider. Feeling the blankets' encompassing weight is pulling Striga further down, further towards sleep, and there is simply no fighting it. Certainly not as she feels Morana moving beside her beneath the covers, eventually working her arms around her to cradle her head and pull Striga to her chest. Somehow Striga manages to turn towards her, tuck against her, big arms wrapping around Morana's smaller frame and holding her close in spite of their previously agreed to arrangement. <em>I love holding you</em>, a stray thought echoes, unknowingly manifesting into audible words, and is then drowned out by the haze of impending slumber and the gentle crackling in the fireplace.</p><p>Morana accepts it gracefully, pleased all the same in simply being here like this and being with her, her talons curled in black, fathomless tresses. She tucks her chin and presses a gentle kiss to the top of Striga's head, feeling a swelling fondness in her heart when the gesture is unconsciously returned to the exposed skin just above her breast.</p><p>"Sleep well, my love." Morana whispers, well aware of her choice of words this time, and allows herself to relax enough to slip into slumber.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><span class="u">Author's Note:</span> I love all this soft gay shit, don't you? I feel like this chapter is something of a bench mark, primarily for the tone the romance is going to take from here on out. They passed their test and now it's time to reap their reward, though, that doesn't mean it will be simple or easy. But, rest assured, it won't be as hard as the road to reach this point. They'll be all right in the end, I promise. Thanks for reading and for all the support. Love you all and see you next chapter.</p>
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<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter Twenty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Morana slept well, but lightly, though you couldn't tell by watching either of them sleep that they were any degree of conscious. Both are completely still for most of the day, not even shifting to roll over or adjust the tangle of limbs they had become. Morana wakes once or twice, just to check on Striga, make sure she was sleeping peacefully and to stroke her hair or give her a light kiss on the head. Striga tightens her arms around her, her forehead firmly buried against Morana's collarbone, and then she stills again.</p><p>It's late in the evening, nearly sundown when she feels Striga move again, and it's an abrupt, body-wide jerk that just as suddenly pulls Morana to full wakefulness. The lingering haze is quick to pass, and Morana notices how quickly Striga is breathing once it does. She shifts a little, pulling back so she can see Striga's face, see her eyes are still closed and her cheeks are gently flushed.</p><p>"Are you all right?" she asks softly.</p><p>"S-sorry," Striga slurs, sleep still heavy in her mouth. "Just...dreaming."</p><p>Sympathy pulls Morana's expression as she carefully pushes a bit of stray hair from Striga's face. "Last night?"</p><p>"In part, but," Striga swallows and shakes her head, then she starts pulling away and rolling onto her back. She scrubs her hands roughly over her face, perhaps trying to chase away the last of her drowsiness, as she knows there is no getting back to sleep now, even if she still feels so <em>tired</em>. Striga stretches, arms up and back arching sharply, her bones popping loudly in several places, wholly unaware and uncaring that Morana is watching her. Then she sits up with a rumbling shrug. "It was...the night I died."</p><p>Morana tenses, an unnecessary breath catching in her lungs. For the moment she simply watches Striga, curious and anxious of what she will do. The predator in her is sensing Striga's vulnerability, but it is easily tempered with compassion that turns the reflexive notion to exploit it into something more like reciprocation.</p><p>Morana pushes herself up, half sitting, her eyes never straying from Striga. "Is...can I do anything?"</p><p>Striga takes a moment to think, to let her head clear a little more. She rubs the back of her neck with one hand, pawing at the still haunting, phantom sensation of something circling her throat. Another shrug as she pushes herself back, eventually propping herself on the pile of pillows and the headboard, tugging up the blankets to keep herself covered. She looks to Morana and opens her arms, gesturing with her hands for her to come forward. She is quick to tuck to Striga's side, her arm slipping across her bare, muscular middle beneath the covers, and her head coming to rest at Striga's shoulder. Striga's arms circle her with their welcomed weight.</p><p>"You do not have to tell me anything if you do not wish to." She assures softly. She wishes to be Striga's safe haven, but she will not push her to partake.</p><p>"I know." Striga exhales, the breath teasing Morana's hair as she rests her cheek against Morana's head. "But...I wish to, if you would listen."</p><p>"Of course."</p><p>They lay this way for a long while, Morana nearly slipping back into sleep before Striga speaks again, her deep, rich voice somewhat unsteady. "I was accused of horse theft and hanged...that's what I believe happened, at least. I remember some pieces so vividly, but others are...shadows, and it happened so fast. Some things I'm not even certain are real, perhaps just my mind trying to fill the holes instead of leaving them empty."</p><p>Morana tenses for a second, her heart clenching when she realizes she has no idea how to respond. So she chooses to remain silent.</p><p>"They left me in the tree, so I was still hanging when I turned...sometimes it's the only thing I can remember about that night, and I've never really been able to get away from it. There have been nights I have woken to that feeling, the noose, like I'm still there...it's the primary reason why I don't grow my talons, nearly slit my own throat once by accident."</p><p>Morana is incredibly unsettled by how nonchalant Striga is about this, especially when she notes how much Striga's pulse has <em>slowed </em>over the last few moments. How could anyone be so passive about their own death? She tightens her arm around Striga, feeling somewhat selfish as it's primarily for her own comfort. But Striga must have gotten something from it as well, as her embrace inches tighter in turn.</p><p>Some time passes without another word. Striga thinks Morana is piecing things together, as someone with a mind like hers seems wont to do. She isn't entirely wrong, because Morana most certainly is reexamining several moments from the past months with a greater clarity. But then Morana speaks, and it isn't anything Striga was expecting.</p><p>"I'm sorry." Morana says, her voice soft, almost timid. "You did not deserve that."</p><p>Striga stares intently across the room, her thick black brows low over her eyes. She isn't sure how she feels or what she thinks of that, but goes with something reflexive and pessimistic. "Perhaps I did."</p><p>"How could you think so?"</p><p>"I'm here, aren't I? You say I did not deserve it, yet it happened all the same." And still with the same neutral, matter of fact delivery.</p><p>"You said you were <em>accused</em>, not that you were guilty,"</p><p>"To the best of my memory, which we both know is not exactly...trustworthy."</p><p>Morana is frowning, and Striga can feel the contortions of her expression against her skin. "Do you <em>really</em> believe you deserved to die that way?"</p><p>Striga takes a moment, mentally warring with opposing threads of thought. "Perhaps it is easier. Makes more sense then simply blaming it on cruel chance...I don't know. Besides, what does it matter?"</p><p>"It matters to me. I know you're not like that."</p><p>"Do you?" Striga laughs with an edge of teeth. "You can't possibly know what sort of woman I was when I was alive, and by the same token, neither do I. For all either of us know, I could have been a notorious pillager."</p><p>Morana scowls to herself and takes a breath. "I seem to recall a story about a woman who lived on a small farm with her father that adored her, who called her <em>his little giant</em> and played with her hair as she sat at his feet. Or was that someone else?"</p><p>Now Striga is scowling too, clearly disapproving of the nerve Morana had chosen to prod. She swallows the sudden thickness in her throat. "It doesn't matter...this is who I am <em>now</em>, regardless of what I may or may not have deserved."</p><p>Morana feels herself soften, sensing Striga's wish to drop the matter. "In any case, know that I sympathize with your suffering. I never would have wished that for you."</p><p>Because Morana understands. Some vampires often had trouble coming to terms with the manner of their turning, far too many having done so willingly but only after careful manipulation on behalf of their dames and sires. Others had been simply unfortunate, and, as Striga said, it was possibly easier to believe it had been karmic penance for some great wrong they had done than to think one was brutalized and mutated at random.</p><p>"But," Striga starts and stops, the manifestation of her thoughts caught on her tongue as she weighs them. As troubling as last night had been, it had left her with a certain...apathy towards what was appropriate and what wasn't. "...Perhaps suffering could be made worthwhile...with greater happiness."</p><p>Morana shifts under Striga's arms, lifting to prop herself on an elbow and turning to face her. Her expression is wholly sincere and attentive. "How so?" Because Morana is ready and willing to do almost anything for her, as if trauma could be undone so easily.</p><p>Striga takes in the sight of her for a moment, studying her in shades of gray through the darkness of the room. Striga can make out her features and expression just fine, but she misses all the color of her and wanted nothing more than to admire the rich browns and pale blues of her self. Still, even just this much is making Striga's heart stir. "We could start with a kiss...see where that leads us."</p><p>Morana blinks at her, her face quirking curiously. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were being flirtatious."</p><p>"And if I am? Does my lady disapprove?"</p><p>Morana thinks for a moment, feeling the smallest smirk threatening at her lips. "Not disapproving...perhaps just wary. Last night was a considerable ordeal for you."</p><p>"Are you concerned for the state of my wounds? Why not look them over then?"</p><p>Morana can feel her pulse rising at the suggestion in Striga's voice, so unusual yet so spot on, and wants to pounce on it, feeling like it's <em>daring</em> her to. So she dares, but gently, and with a little chuckle. "Hard to see them in this darkness."</p><p>"Then feel them out if you must, as I would hate that you should leave this bed at present."</p><p>Morana sees a flicker of eye shine, a bit of teeth within the grayness of Striga's form. "How very forward of you." she purrs, wholly amused.</p><p>"Thought I'd try my hand at it." Striga lilts her head, still grinning. "How am I doing?"</p><p>"Masterful, so far." which is the truth, and that they are both acknowledging it sends Morana's heart into a delightful tizzy. "So let us have a look...or feel, as it were."</p><p>Morana means to make an event out of this, confident that if she went too far that Striga would stop her. "You will have to guide me, as I didn't make much effort to take note of <em>all</em> of your injuries." Because there had appeared to be far too many, and her distress over the matter as a whole wouldn't allow that sort of focus. She starts with a soft hand at Striga's shoulders, sliding her palm out from under the blankets and across the breadth of her collarbones, the spread of Striga's shoulders reminiscent of some gigantic bird's wings. "Nothing here."</p><p>"No."</p><p>Morana brings her hand back to the center, her fingertips dipping into the divot where her collarbones meet before carefully, <em>so carefully</em>, she draws them upward along the lines of Striga's throat. "The bruising here was terrible."</p><p>"Yes." Striga sounded wary, the tendons in her neck twitching beneath Morana's fingers. "I imagine it's gone now."</p><p>Morana simply nods and chooses not to linger there; she had always found Striga's neck to be one of her most attractive features, but now wasn't the time to admire it. If ever. Instead she continues upward and strokes along the hard edge of Striga's jaw, back towards her ear. "Blows to the head?"</p><p>"Yes, a rather nasty one." Striga's smile is audible.</p><p>Morana is still smiling as well, her hand pushing eagerly into plentiful, silken hair, enough that her hand seems to vanish from view as talons find Striga's scalp. She has to shift onto her knees to reach all the way back, and Striga's hands settle on Morana's hips when she lifts her head to give Morana easier access. Morana's heart lurches, her pulse throbbing throughout her body, and she briefly wonders if Striga noticed. Mercy, her hands are enormous...</p><p>Morana swallows, hoping it's enough to keep her stable when she says "I don't feel anything out of place,"</p><p>"Best keep looking, just to be sure." Striga rumbles. Sensing where Morana is she tips up her chin, finding the line of Morana's jaw to press a quick kiss to. Then she feels the pressure of Morana's forehead against her own, feels her tepid breath on her face, and instinctively finds her lips with her own. The fingers in her hair hook, tugging, and Striga immediately tenses. "Don't pull."</p><p>"Apologies." comes Morana's quick, breathy response as her grip loosens. She opens her hand again, her whole palm cupping the back of Striga's head, the tips of her talons still against her scalp.</p><p>"Better." Striga hums and kisses her again, feeling the encouragement of Morana's hand now lifting beneath her head. "Still nothing?" she asks softly against her mouth.</p><p>"N-not that I can find." Morana feels Striga's hands tighten briefly around her hips and she swears she's about to collapse. "Suppose it felt more painful than it was?"</p><p>"Perhaps." Striga kisses her again, a chaste thing. "Your heart is racing." and the comment comes gentler, quieter than she means it to.</p><p>"Suppose it shouldn't be?" she wants to laugh, truly, but the question sounds more desperate and broken than amused. She has taken note of the heavy pulse at the apex of her thighs and it is equal parts thrilling and vexing.</p><p>"We have done little more than kiss." Striga teases.</p><p>"I think," Morana has to pause and breathe, at least she certainly believes she does, "I believe you fail to understand just how much...<em>impact</em> kissing you has on me."</p><p>"Ah, I see." Striga nods a little, her head brushing against Morana's as they are still so close together. "You could have said something, or shown me."</p><p>"I did not think that was what you were expecting from this. After all, I would hate to stress you."</p><p>"Are the kisses you wish to give me so intense?"</p><p>Morana cannot put words together for the answer, though her silence in itself is an answer, and is presently glad that Striga cannot actually see her, as she is surely red faced.</p><p>"I am sure if you are gentle with my fragile self, I will manage. Otherwise, do continue with your examination, my lady."</p><p>Morana huffs, biting her lip before softly lamenting, "That we should all be so collected,"</p><p>"Would it help if I let go of you?"</p><p>"<em>Never let me go</em> ." it's a reflexive, visceral thing that she can <em>hear</em> setting Striga's heart into a sudden sprint. "Please."</p><p>"...As you wish."</p><p>And Striga makes good on her word as Morana pushes herself higher, making Striga trust in the hand still holding her head as it tips back while keeping her big hands secure to Morana's hips. Morana's lips crash into hers with a mutual gasp, the abruptness and the force enough to snatch the breath right out of them. This kiss, the quick succession of more to follow, feel so different; Morana seems <em>hungry</em>. Striga's body jumps with gentle surprise at the prick of a fang in her bottom lip, the motion punctuated with a curious noise that Morana readily swallows. Striga isn't sure how she feels about that, either, or how Morana pays nearly no attention to it, but whatever she does feel is far from unpleasant.</p><p>Eventually Morana pulls away, it feels both abrupt and appropriate at the same time, a notion she only gives a second to as she pants. "Where else?"</p><p>"What?" Striga is sounding a little breathless as well.</p><p>"Where else were you hurt?"</p><p>"Ribs. My left."</p><p>Both of them make a sound, perhaps in surprise or something else at the quickness that Morana releases her hold on Striga's head to grab the edge of the blanket and all but tear it down. But Striga doesn't protest or correct her or anything, her curiosity is much too high for that. It isn't every night a woman -or anyone- acts like this towards her, and Striga means to see what becomes of it. Striga jumps when Morana's fingers slot between her ribs, the talons just grazing, almost tickling, and it makes her lift her arm to rest over her head. She expected Morana to laugh, but she doesn't, and what Striga can see of her expression tells her that she is far too focused for that sort of playfulness.</p><p>Morana revels in the smooth skin and divots of muscles and how they twitch beneath her fingertips. She has been <em>dying </em>to touch Striga like this for...feels like forever, and now that she finally has her, consenting and still under her hand, it's dizzying. Morana can see the planes of gray and shadows of her musculature, the spot of soft, thready blackness in the pit of her arm, and follows the natural lines of her body to her breast where Morana's gaze lingers. But then she feels it, a patch of still smooth but raised flesh with discernible edges, about the size of a coin. It hones her focus, makes her pause and momentarily forget the pulse below her navel. "What made this?"</p><p>"Silver stake." Striga exhales.</p><p>"Any pain?"</p><p>"I...I don't think so."</p><p>"Are you all right?"</p><p>"J-just...your touch," she knows there are words for how she feels, but they just won't form. There's blood in her cheeks and her pulse pounds in her ears as well as...other places.</p><p>"Should I stop?" Morana sounds completely sincere, level, though in her mind she is praying she won't have to follow through.</p><p>"No, don't." Striga drops her arm suddenly, but carefully, and covers Morana's hand with her own, adding tangible intent to her answer.</p><p>Morana is back to focusing on the moment and feels Striga's larger hand putting pressure on her own. Morana concedes, allows her hand to be moved, silently adoring the friction of skin against skin as Striga situates her palm in the middle of where Striga's ribs and stomach meet. There are two more scars here that have yet to fully heal, just like on her ribs, though these are smaller.</p><p>"Crossbow." Striga says without prompting, sounding steadier now. Her side is just more tender to touch, she thinks absently.</p><p>Morana hums, sounding comfortable but still sympathetic in a way. "Was there another?"</p><p>"Yes. Lower." and there's an unintentional wariness to that last word, almost like a gentle warning of where this, whatever it is, is possibly going.</p><p>In the darkness both of them lower their eyes to the blanket resting just below Morana's hand, both seeming to wait for the other to backpedal, then look to each other again as Striga lifts hers away. Morana feels a spark of courage and drags her fingertips along the half-visible line of Striga's abdomen, catching the edge of the blankets to tug it down further as she goes. Keeping Striga's gaze she can see the anticipation and awe alongside the smallest trace of anxiety, and she mentally braces for Striga to rescind consent. But it never comes.</p><p>Morana loves the sound of hitching breath -be it hers or Striga's- when her finger dips into the small pit of Striga's navel, muscles jumping under her hand at the contact that sent an unfamiliar spark across Striga's nerves. But Morana felt the thickness of scar tissue too, stilling her hand to linger there, using the pads of her fingers to trace the length of the line she cannot properly see across Striga's belly. It's smooth and raised like the others, charting a near perfect path from one jutting hip bone to the other, and touching this one drags a shuddering gasp out of Striga, a sound that snaps the thread of Morana's attention tight. In that same instant she keys into Striga's heartbeat, now loud and powerful enough to feel beneath her hand. Or it could be her own pulse, as it seems they have synched again.</p><p>Striga's hand, still on Morana's hip, clutches at her soft flesh. "Come here." she pants heavily, pulling until Morana collapses against her chest. She wraps Morana up in her arms, thoughtlessly pawing at her until she has both hands full of Morana's backside and her lips crushed against her own. Morana shudders with a thready whimper, but makes no motion to pull away; feeling those claws in her hair again, and all but tasting the hunger in Morana's feverish kisses, has Striga feeling confident that she has no intention of doing such a thing.</p><p>Morana wants to swallow her whole, and being so close to doing so and <em>getting away with it</em>, Striga all but begging to be beneath her fangs, makes her heart sing. The clutch of those incredible hands in her ass is a delicious, electric pressure that she has never experienced before and has her groaning into Striga's yielding mouth. She chances to slip her tongue passed Striga's lips, equal parts curious and needy, and drinks in the shuddering moan she receives in turn. Striga's hands tighten and Morana swears she blinks out of consciousness for a split second, and then she can feels those same hands inching upward, pushing under the ill fitting tunic. Morana shifts, appearing to make a blind, clumsy attempt at straddling Striga, because she needs something between her thighs or she might scream. She manages to pull one leg up, draping it across Striga's broad waist and tempted to keep it right there as Striga's hand smooths along the back of her thigh to rest at her knee. Oh the sounds that her touch tore loose...</p><p>There is a knock at the door, and they both freeze as they are.</p><p>Striga feels the sudden shift of the energy in the air, everything seeming to go cold and desolate with all the care and punctuation of a headsman's ax. The thunder of their joint pulse has vanished, and opening her eyes to look up at Morana is a startling sight to behold. Striga slacks and stills like a prey animal under Morana's wild and sharp gaze, seeing that her pupils are nearly invisible and her delicate lips are steadily twisting into a fanged grimace. It's a face of fury, a terrifyingly quiet but very present fury.</p><p>There's another knock and Morana jackknifes upright, balancing on the one knee that's still on the mattress, her head whipping to look in the direction of the door with those eyes full of daggers.</p><p>"P-perhaps I should-,"</p><p>"<em>No</em> ." Morana cuts her off with a razor sharp hiss, her rigid frame otherwise still. " <em>I</em> will answer it." Because she needed to see the fool's face in the seconds before she vivisected them. <em>How </em> <em> <b>dare</b> </em> <em> they, so help me I will...</em> She can't finish the thought, her indignation wiping her mind of anything other than her anger.</p><p>With swift, silent movements, Morana disembarks from the bed and stalks across the floor, absently tugging the tunic down in the back so she doesn't have to worry herself with it possibly slipping down too far in the front. She wanted to make sure nothing distracted this visitor from the surely savage expression she knows she is wearing. When she makes it to the door she takes the handle and viciously twists it, the force she uses to open it threatening to rip it off the hinges. Lamplight pours in from the corridor, making her pupils contract further, adding to the shimmering ferocity of her gaze.</p><p>Taubert is on the other side of the door, and what little color she had in her face instantly bleeds out to leave her already deathly pale skin as startlingly white. For several, impossibly tense seconds, she can only stand there and helplessly meet Morana's eyes, her body stiff as a rail.</p><p>"Yes, captain?" Morana waits...waits, refusing to blink or adjust her posture or expression even a little yet feels her jaw steadily tightening as Taubert remains silent. "<em>Well</em>?"</p><p>She starts and stops several times, eventually stuttering into the message she had been tasked with delivering. Having done that, she tumbles into a tirade of apologies that she never gets an opportunity to finish as Morana slams the door without another word. Taubert is quick to make herself scarce, all but running off to attend to other matters, never mind that she was sure to see Lady Morana sooner rather than later -just as well, perhaps then the good lady wouldn't be so upset and Taubert would not be so obviously terrified of her.</p><p>Back inside the darkness of Striga's chambers, Morana has propped herself against the door, her hands covering her face as she tries to calm herself. It's not going well so far.</p><p>"Has something happened?" Striga calls softly, warily from the bed. She hasn't had the nerve to move yet.</p><p>Morana takes a deep, <em>deep</em>, stabilizing breath, dropping her hands to her sides when her lungs empty. "No," she laments roughly. "Carmilla wishes to speak with us, go over the recovered remains of the hunters. She and Lenore are already waiting."</p><p>"Then let us go; the sooner we see to this, the sooner we'll be finished."</p><p>Morana grumbles for another few seconds and then nods to no one. Straightening, she starts her way across the room, back the way she came. "I will need to return to my chambers for proper clothes...at least a cleaner shirt."</p><p>"I'll fetch your trousers."</p><p>"You don't have to," but Morana can hear Striga moving, knowing she is surely meaning to do as she pleases all the same. Although, frankly, the last thing Morana wants is to put pants on, as her body is still raw and humming with arousal to the point that she thinks the slick between her thighs might ruin them. But she will accept the article of clothing when Striga brings it to her, and her boots from Striga's other hand with quiet thanks.</p><p>Striga hovers nearby for a moment. "Are you all right?"</p><p>Morana shrugs as she pulls up her trousers and pulls the laces tight. "I will be, but, for the moment I am, how you say...<em>pissed</em>."</p><p>Striga wants to laugh but quickly suppresses it. There would be time to appreciate Morana's less than sophisticated language later.</p><p>"Do you have any idea how long it's been since I was touched like that?" Morana fumes, sounding like she is making only a half honest effort to rein in her feelings. "How long I have wanted <em>you</em> to touch me that way?"</p><p>"By the sounds of it," there's the slightest, audible grin, "far too long for your liking."</p><p>"I am not joking!"</p><p>"And I am not laughing." Striga's voice stays soft, level, patient. With care she advances on Morana, coming to stand just beside her, waiting for Morana to address her. "I am not meaning to tease you."</p><p>"I know." Morana huffs, feeling a little embarrassed as she is doing nothing short of throwing a tantrum. "I am sorry."</p><p>Striga smiles down at her in the darkness, lifting her hand to curl a finger beneath Morana's chin and lift it. "Your feelings are so large, my lady, one could hardly blame you for being overwhelmed at times."</p><p>Morana blinks up at her, her expression no longer strained but curious. She cannot seem to wrap her head around how Striga could be so calm about this. Had...did she not feel the same way? Had she enjoyed it at all? "And you're not?" Her voice breaks around the sudden apprehension.</p><p>"Please do not take my lack of frustration as a sign that I was not invested in...<em>us</em> ." Striga says softly, her hand moving from Morana's chin to stroke her heated cheek with the backs of her thick fingers. "Make no mistake, I was coming to enjoy that a great deal, and I mean to explore the matter further, but there is <em>work</em> for us to do now. I'm afraid my mind is simply more acclimated for work than... <em>play</em>."</p><p><em>I will see to that.</em> The thought flickers like a plot through her mind with a touch of something carnally sinister, but it is brief. It is quickly swamped by the warm wave of comfort Striga's words pulled around her like a blanket. Without a second thought, Morana takes Striga's hand, holding it as she closes the space between them and rises to the balls of her feet for a kiss. Feeling Striga's other hand coming up to securely cup the back of her head, hold her close, puts any uncertainties Morana has to rest. For now, at least.</p><p>"Now let us be on." Striga whispers when they part, earning a nod that does nothing to hide the starry-eyed look Morana is now wearing.</p><p>The two of them linger long enough for Striga to pull on her usual black skirt and the fleece lined highwayman's coat, her logic being that once Morana had her own shirt, she meant to take hers back and wear it. Then she pulls on her boots and they head for Morana's chambers. The wardrobe switch goes off smoothly, and from there Morana takes the lead as Striga confirms that she doesn't really know where they were going. It wasn't the council room, so she needed Morana's guidance.</p><p>Arm in arm they make their way to the lower levels of the palace, not quite the dungeons, but hauntingly close. White marble and lightning glass gives way to hewn stone and torchlight, the echoes of footsteps through much narrower, desolate halls. Striga had yet to come here before now, never having had a reason, so it's only natural that her head is on a swivel to take it all in. Morana explains that this is usually where she conducts meetings with her shadows, away from everything else for their safety's sake. Striga simply nods, accepting without a need of further elaboration.</p><p>They eventually come to a heavy wooden and iron door which Striga moves to open for Morana, receiving a nod and a little smile. Inside is a room that eerily resembles the collection of stone corridors they took to arrive here, well lit with ample torchlight. It isn't a particularly large chamber, but it's enough for a trio of long wooden tables laid parallel to each other, enough space between them for someone to walk, and another pushed up against the wall and off to the side. That lone table is laid out with bits of armor, clothing, and a collection of weapons that all glisten in the torchlight with the sickening satin of silver. On the other three tables are three bodies, one of which has the mangled tangle of a spinal column laid out beside it.</p><p>Carmilla, Lenore with an owl on her shoulder, and Taubert are present, standing beside each other just inside the doorway.</p><p>"Ah, there you are," Carmilla acknowledges them first. "Sorry to drag you out of bed so soon, but I felt like this wasn't a matter to put off." Her icy eyes settle on Striga. "Glad to have you home again, general."</p><p>"Good to be home." Striga dips her chin. "Have we learned anything new?"</p><p>"Our scholars are still trying to confirm some leads as to the symbols on their clothes, but nothing concrete just yet."</p><p>Striga nods and steps away from Morana's side, approaching one of the tables with her eyes fixed on the body. "Any theories then? Anything the corpses can tell us?"</p><p>"The tattoos on that one have been identified as Greek Orthodox imagery." Lenore answers, approach the same table as Striga. "His body is covered in them, very intricate and well made. However, none of them resemble the symbol on his clothes."</p><p>"A zealot?" Striga lifts a curious brow.</p><p>"A magician." Morana adds. "But seeing as magic is often demonized in Christian circles and, by proxy, countless communities across the continent, it could mean a number of things. Perhaps their organization is linked to the church directly."</p><p>"It's certainly possible. It's one of the only ways they could have the kind of funding they would need for equipment like this." Lenore nods as she studies the body for a moment longer. Then she looks up, her crimson irises sliding from Striga to Morana and back again. "So which one of you killed him?"</p><p>Morana silently lilts her head, making Lenore smile.</p><p>"Can you confirm these were the same hunters that attacked the outpost, general?" Carmilla asks.</p><p>"As far as I can tell, yes, at the very least they belong to the same order." Striga steps over to the next table, the one with the spine on display and clotted with hunks of dried, yellowed cartilage and withered, shredded musculature. She cuts a grin and looks to Morana, who seems to instinctively meet her gaze. "You did this as well?"</p><p>"I did." and her brow quirks in a quizzical way.</p><p>"Brutal. Impressive."</p><p>"It was quick." Morana sounds like she's defending herself, and when Striga's smile widens ever so slightly, she suddenly feels like she doesn't really have to. She realizes that Striga actually sounds...proud of her. What an interesting feeling.</p><p>Now Striga steps away, moving towards the table against the wall. Her eyes fix on a bow lying on the end, recognizes it as her own, and immediately grabs it up to tuck under her arm. No one asks, and part of her is happier for it. Then her attention drifts, mentally flinching at the blades and crossbows on display, but she eventually settles on the pieces of armor. They're scorched and streaked with dark ribbons of ash and blackened around the seams, and the breastplate has a distinct, caving hole in the middle of it.</p><p>"One of them had been a vampire." Striga feels a shift in the air the moment the words leave her mouth.</p><p>"<em>I had guessed as much, but I didn't want to make assumptions.</em>" Taubert speaks up.</p><p>Striga half catches what she says, still only conversational with Taubert's language, but she can suss it out.</p><p>"<em>That's </em> troubling. How do you suppose a group of vampire <em>hunters</em> managed that?" Lenore wonders aloud, sounding genuinely concerned.</p><p>"As one would with humans, really; good money, the thrill of killing, or even self-loathing that goes so far as to encompass our entire race." Striga lists casually. "Then there are the less likely things; if they employ magicians, it's possible they were thralled to hunt their own kind."</p><p>"If that's the case then we need to find their base of operations as soon as possible."</p><p>"Where do we even begin to look?" Morana poses. "Yes, we have a possible link to the church, but that is little better than trying to find silver among steel. And we have already sent copies of the symbols to our outlying archives, but have yet to hear back from any of them."</p><p>Taubert clears her throat carefully, still visibly wary of Morana. "<em>If I may, Lady Morana, we found one of the hunters alive.</em>" and she does her damnedest not to flinch when Morana's eyes fix on her. Striga is looking to the captain as well, but her eyes are primarily curious, whereas Morana's are full of naked interest.</p><p>"Is he fit for interrogation?"</p><p>"<em>Not that I'm aware of yet, but I'll certainly keep you informed.</em>"</p><p>Morana doesn't want to accept that answer, but has little other choice.</p><p>"How in the hell did he survive?" Striga asks with a touch of amusement.</p><p>"<em>He had fainted. The arrow in his chest hadn't pierced the armor, but it must have been enough to make him pass out. He even pissed himself.</em>"</p><p>Lenore chuckles behind her hand, having understood perfectly, and Carmilla, after having the captain's answer translated for her, does the same.</p><p>"To be fair, I <em>am</em> rather terrifying, even at a distance." Striga smiles and pretends to preen, flipping her hair just a little. Somehow this breaks the tension in the room, mostly to the amusement of her sisters, though Morana looks decidedly more confused while carrying the slightest, uneven smirk. Perhaps that's why she was so quick to turn back to the matter at hand.</p><p>"I want to know the moment the hunter is able to speak." she dictates to Taubert. Then she shifts her attention to Carmilla. "Between that and our scholars, I should be able to dispatch my shadows to deal with the matter in short order."</p><p>"I leave it to you, Morana, with my full confidence."</p><p>"Wouldn't this still be my responsibility?" Striga asks with a drawn hesitation. "It <em>is</em> a military endeavor,"</p><p>"Not officially, not anymore." Morana shakes her head. "Considering what you told us in your reports, and what we have discovered so far, we're looking at a possibly foreign order that, for the time being, we are to assume is coming from a non-allied nation that we only recently ceased hostilities with. As heads of state, we need to keep ourselves as physically separate from this as possible."</p><p>Striga's brows knit and slant, hardening the already sharp features of her face. "I should see this through to completion."</p><p>"And you shall, <em>from here</em>."</p><p>"While I admire your devotion to your duties, general, Morana is right." Carmilla shoulders the weight of Striga's cutting gaze without pause. "This demands a certain degree of discretion, and we must mitigate as much risk as possible. Under any other circumstances, I would be more than happy to let you ride out there and unleash hell, but now is not the time."</p><p>"And we've only just gotten you back." Lenore adds gently, as if attempting to humanize their opposition and make it more palatable. "Not to mention it would be positively <em>rude</em> of you to hurl yourself back into the fray so soon after Morana performed such a gallant rescue." And she makes sure Striga is watching when she strokes her owl's belly, the bird shutting its eyes and trilling softly from Lenore's shoulder.</p><p>Striga crosses her arms, reflexively trying to make herself appear bigger, more imposing as she casts a disapproving look to each of them, even Taubert. When it is more than clear that they have no intention of conceding, Striga shrugs. "Very well, if it is the council's wish."</p><p>Morana seems to deflate with a sense of relief. She was ready for an argument, but she is glad there wouldn't be one. "Though I would still readily welcome any insight you can offer."</p><p>"Of course." Striga nods once.</p><p>The five of them continue to go back and forth and discuss the matter nearly to death before reluctantly accepting that there is no particular action to take at present aside from waiting. Carmilla does give the order that the bodies be disposed of, and while Taubert does not question it, she informs the queen that one of their resident scholars showed an interest in keeping the skin of the magician, for that sake of preserving "such fine artwork". Carmilla doesn't appear to mind, in fact the notion seems to stir a form of intrigue in her.</p><p>Lenore jokes with Morana, asking if she wanted to keep the spine as a trophy. "It's in immaculate condition," she says with a laugh.</p><p>Morana just rolls her eyes and scoffs with a dismissive wave of her hand as she turns and heads for the door, effectively dismissing herself. Striga is quick to follow suit, but not before she shares a silent smile with Lenore.</p><p>There isn't quite enough room for them to comfortably walk side by side down here, but once they have emerged on the ground floor, bathed in lightning glass glow and walking on polished marble, Striga is quick to fall in step beside Morana and take her arm.</p><p>"So what for us now, my lady?"</p><p>"We should feed, neither of us have had anything to drink yet tonight."</p><p>"Hmm." Striga nods slowly. "Your chambers or mine?"</p><p>Morana feels the need to laugh and indulges it softly, quietly. "Whichever you prefer, I suppose. Though I should collect my nightgown if you intend to keep me all night." and a part of Morana is <em>praying </em>that she does.</p><p>"Well, not necessarily," Striga smiles and cocks her head. "I don't mind lending you something of mine. In fact, I think I find you wearing my clothes...endearing." and the confession is a soft, almost timid and vulnerable thing.</p><p>"Hm," a sound of intrigue, "I shall keep that in mind. Then let us retire to <em>your</em> chambers."</p><p>"I was hoping you would say as much." Striga laughs. "I'm actually looking forward to getting back in my bed."</p><p>Morana laughs out loud, and they continue on, arm in arm.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><span class="u"> Author's Note: </span> Not entirely sure what the fic is going to look like from here on, other than some obvious elements. It's likely to be a collection of moments over a non-linear passage of time, mostly made up of Striga and Morana's growing and experiencing things together, which I'm confident that most of you won't mind. Lots of sappy, romantic shit, I'd imagine. Again, doubt you lot will mind.</p><p> </p><p>As a side note, according to some regions of Slavic folklore, a vampire can be created when someone dies suddenly and violently, or is unjustly murdered, so I went with that for the sake of some variety.</p><p> </p><p>Thanks for reading and have a great one!</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Chapter Twenty-One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Striga feels a certain restlessness in her body, even after she and Morana retired to her chambers for dinner, even after both of them have fed and are now steadily lulling into something relaxed and comfortable. It isn't a distressing sensation, only something she isn't sure what to name, so she doesn't bring it up. She just accepts it, thinking if she let it be long enough it would taper off, and finds herself spinning her ring and absently looking over her half-filled bookshelves to help it along.</p><p>Morana watches her from her seat at the common table, swirling the last little bit of blood in her glass before finishing it. She's mostly curious, wanting to see if any of her choices appear to pique Striga's interest. She can't help but smile when Striga pulls a book, studies it briefly, and then turns to walk the short distance and set it on her desk. That smile lingers when Striga returns to the shelf, still searching without discernible purpose, still spinning her ring.</p><p>Another part of her is watching with keen anticipation, waiting for the right moment to possibly revisit their earlier pursuit. As strong as her desire is at the moment, she knows she must navigate the matter with no small amount of care; she doesn't want Striga to feel obligated or pushed, but she doesn't want to have to wait much longer either. A precarious balancing act, to be sure, one she feels suddenly, woefully out of practice at performing.</p><p>
  <em>Worst comes to worst, she says no...which sounds rather awful, but I will respect it nonetheless.</em>
</p><p>Morana stabilizes herself with a breath and stands up, padding with bare feet across the floor to join Striga, curious about the new book in her hands.</p><p>"Find something interesting?" She asks softly, a hand at Striga's back as she falls into place beside her.</p><p>"A lot of trade manuscripts."</p><p>"I thought you might appreciate an opportunity to expand your horizons. We all have our hobbies, after all,"</p><p>"I have hobbies." Striga iterated neutrally.</p><p>"Yes, but hunting and riding are both dependent on weather and seasons. This way you might discover something you can do any time you wish, maybe even something we can learn to do together."</p><p>Without turning her head, face still neutral, Striga looks at Morana, then back to the book in her hand, and lilts her head with a nod. "This is true, but," She then tilts the open book for Morana to see, "needlepoint? Really?"</p><p>"Oh god no, not that," Morana pushes the book away, earning a warm smile from Striga. "But there are plenty of other books with numerous other subjects. And there are even more than that still in the archives."</p><p>"No doubt." Striga resigns to close the book and put it back on the shelf. When she turns to give Morana her full attention, she is all but certain that she sees relief come over her, and her blue eyes light up. It does something to soothe that still lingering restlessness in her.</p><p>Striga is still grinning as one sable brow peaks. "What is it you want, my lady?"</p><p>"Want? What makes you think I want something?" Morana casts a felid smile, almost all teeth. She slips her arms around Striga's broad waist, both hands resting against her back. "I have everything I need right here."</p><p>"Hm, perhaps," she feels the warmth of blood in her cheeks. "But I was inquiring as to your <em>wants</em> , not your <em>needs</em>."</p><p>"Well, I suppose that <em>is</em> a significant distinction."</p><p>"Are you being coy?"</p><p>Morana's grin only seems to widen, her gaze breaking away and appearing to focus on the jut of Striga's collarbones when she gives a breathy giggle. A sound that is abruptly cut off at the feeling of Striga's finger curling beneath her chin to lift it, a gentle demand for her attention, and her smile has dissolved into unreadable, parted lips as she looks up into bright green eyes. Her heart is thrumming behind her ribs now, her pulse suddenly so loud.</p><p>"Speak plainly." Striga's voice is low, soft, but full of something potentially sharp, and Morana wants to melt around those suggested edges. "Tell me what you want."</p><p>"...<em>You</em>." Morana exhales hotly, swallows. "I want you."</p><p>For a moment their expressions match as mixtures of awe and naked want. Without a word Striga drops her hands, only having to bend a little at the knees to hook one arm about her waist and the other behind one of Morana's knees to lift her up. Morana gasps, her hands reflexively going to Striga's shoulders to find support as her thighs instinctively settle around Striga's waist. She tries and fails to suppress a groan, her eyes drifting closed, and when she opens them again she is looking down at Striga and into her eyes, her pitch pupils widened.</p><p>Striga has no idea how or why hearing Morana make such a claim -<em>I want you</em>- has affected her, but it's powerful and humbling and a huge mess of thoughts that she doesn't want to devote energy to deciphering right now. All she wants is to give Morana everything she asks for, no matter what it may be.</p><p>Once confident in her stability, Morana takes Striga's face between her hands and soundly kisses her, something Striga quickly reciprocates. Striga's mouth readily yields to Morana's hunger, finding that the feeling of Morana's tongue in her mouth is good enough to keep, and does so with the littlest draw of her own mouth. Her powerful arms cinch tightly around Morana's waist, as if to drive the point home, and she loves the wanton moan that rattles out of her good lady in response. Oh, what sweet vibrations.</p><p>Morana doesn't know how she does it, but she breaks the kiss, her forehead pressing warm and tight to Striga's as she pants feverishly. She can hear their racing hearts synching up again, and it's taking every ounce of will she has to not lose herself to the sound. "Th-the bed." she stammers.</p><p>Striga answers with a hitching, breathy laugh. "What on earth for?" she asks playfully, not expecting such an imperative response.</p><p>"Please," Morana begs, her voice half broken, "make love to me."</p><p>"Hmm." Striga's body rumbles and she feels Morana tensing in her arms. Perhaps she felt that...and liked it? "I'm afraid...you will have to teach me how." And she hopes she doesn't sound too pathetic in admitting as much.</p><p>"Oh, my love, I <em>revel</em> in the idea."</p><p>Striga blushes up at her. "I mean, I know about sex, but,"</p><p>"I understand."</p><p>Striga wants to say something about that other thing, too, about the word she is damn certain she had just heard, but a ravenous kiss cuts her off and extinguishes the thought. Instead her mind focuses on moving her feet and keeping her balance without having to look where she's going, as Morana insists on keeping Striga's attention solely on her. So she uses her peripherals to reach the bed, dropping one knee onto the mattress before somehow prying Morana's thighs loose and dropping her unceremoniously onto the pile of blankets and linens. The good lady's face flickers with surprise before she bursts into a brief fit of giggles.</p><p>Striga could drown in that smile, that sound. She looks down at Morana with a painfully soft adoration, her fangs peeking through her own subdued smile, then her line of sight breaks for a split second as she tugs her tunic over her head and tosses it aside. Striga is already untying the lace at the waist of her dress when Morana gives her a strange look. "What is it? Is this not what you want?"</p><p>"Well, yes, but,"</p><p>"But what?" Striga looks genuinely concerned, had she done something wrong?</p><p>"There's a certain...fun to be had in undressing each other. I was looking forward to it."</p><p>"Oh. Would you prefer that I put my shirt back on?" and she is completely serious, because she would do anything for the sake of Morana's happiness.</p><p>"No, no," Morana laughs, "don't be silly. Think of it as a matter for our next lesson."</p><p>"Hm." Striga nods, unsure how the lilt in Morana's voice feels in her mind, though it isn't the worst thing. She finishes loosening her dress and lets it pool on the floor before climbing into bed, stalking along Morana's side. "So what is the first lesson?"</p><p>"I would still like for you to undress <em>me</em>, if you are agreeable. Though, now that I think of it, it doesn't really matter, does it? We've seen each other bare before," And yet she cannot take her eyes off of Striga's naked body, not if her afterlife depended on it.</p><p>"True enough, but," Striga takes a moment, looks over the woman lying in her bed as she lays a broad hand across her stomach, fingers fanning out. "This isn't quite the same. You <em>want</em> me to see you now."</p><p>"A part of me wanted you to see me then, too."</p><p>"Yes, but it's different now that you have asked." Striga's voice has softened, her eyes focusing on her own hand as she pushes upward with her palm, pulling the soft linen of Morana's blouse up as well. Bright green eyes flit to the first bit of skin that's revealed, the plush roundness of Morana's navel and the light dusting of moles around it, and Striga unconsciously licks her lips. A little higher and she marks the littlest shadow of a furrow of musculature, higher still and she can make out the faint impressions of her taught and fluttering abdomen. "I'm free to fully enjoy the view."</p><p>Morana lifts her arms to rest near her head, anticipating that her shirt was not long for its place, and one talon finds its way between her teeth as she smirks. "And <em>are</em> you enjoying it?"</p><p>Striga simply hums in agreement, more focused on Morana's skin than her voice. For a moment she pulls her pale hand away, wanting an unobstructed display of Morana's belly as it rises and falls with steady but quick breaths. When her gaze eases upward, catching Morana's, she sees her good lady has a very expecting slant to her brows. Striga only huffs a little laugh, as she understands, and wastes no time in pulling Morana's shirt the rest of the way up. Now her rich brown hair fans across the pale pillows in a mess of curls and waves in an unexpectedly pretty way, something about it stirring a gut-wrenching need in Striga to kiss her.</p><p>Morana's heart sings at the skin-to-skin contact as Striga pounces, her nerves alight with a delicious charge. She feels as though Striga's body is surrounding her, both safe and crushing in a way she has been <em>craving</em> for so long. Her arms tuck beneath Striga so she can spread her hands across Striga's muscular back, whimpering in carnal delight at the hills and valleys her fingers slip over. Her hands drop to Striga's sides, making the larger vampire jump with a cautionary grunt. Morana quickly adjusts her position, both palms pressing up against Striga's belly, her thumbs in the dips between the muscles again. Striga's tongue slips into her mouth and her hips mindlessly thrust up and off the bed.</p><p>Striga feels it and moves her hand to catch her at the small of the back, her fingers deftly hooking around the back of Morana's trousers to start pulling them down. It takes her a moment to realize what's going on through the hot fog in her mind, but Morana's hands scramble to loosen the laces, just shy of simply slicing them open with her claws in reckless haste. Striga must have noticed, as a rich chuckle vibrates low and velvety between them.</p><p>"I do like these on you." Striga admits softly. "They're a wonderful compliment to your nice ass."</p><p>"You think I have a nice ass?" Morana pants, sounding only a little surprised at the question.</p><p>"I do, have for some time, only now do I feel it appropriate to say so out loud." She smiles knowingly and crushes her lips against Morana's once again, stopping whatever response she might have had.</p><p>Striga peels the trousers off, never casting so much as a glance at them as she blindly tosses them off the bed. That one hand goes back to Morana's legs, fingers curling around her calf, her long thumb lining the hard edge of her shin as she pushes up, up, and caps Morana's knee with her whole hand to guide her legs back down. "What is the next lesson, my lady?" Striga purrs.</p><p>"<em>How are you still so calm</em>?" Morana pants, eyes shut with lips swollen and prettily parted.</p><p>Though her core is pounding like her heart, Striga smirks and says "I work well under pressure." because she has a task that she simply <em>must</em> give her complete devotion to, and such a smug remark earns a pulling touch of talons across her belly, pushing a pleasured hiss between Striga's teeth. "So?"</p><p>"Kiss me,"</p><p>"I am kissing you,"</p><p>"Kiss me <em>everywhere</em>."</p><p>"Ah, I see."</p><p>Just to see what she would do, Striga starts with the most chaste peck to the tip of Morana's nose, and delights in the way she stills and her bright eyes open as if her brain had just skipped a beat. Striga can't help but laugh. Then it appears her good lady doesn't much like the teasing, looking to try and wriggle out from under her. "<em>Ass</em>," she bites, pushing up against Striga's shoulders, but not with nearly the strength needed to actually move her.</p><p>But Striga rises to the challenge. She braces on her knees, abdomen tight to keep her hovering over Morana while both of her hands take secure hold of Morana's wrists and force them over her head, pushing them deep down into the pillows. Morana's eyes are wide, her mouth agape and lined with fangs as a sharp gasp passes through her. Striga looms over her, all her muscles tensed and her form framed by shadows that only accentuate her stature and the intensity of her eyes.</p><p>"Make all the requests you like," Striga says with her trademark rumble and hidden edges, "but you <em>must</em> give me a chance to fulfill them."</p><p>Morana cannot find it in herself to speak, raw arousal having squashed the entirety of her vast vocabulary.</p><p>"Trust that I will give you what you want, just not all at once. Understood?"</p><p>Morana blinks at her, her thoughts coalescing into something orderly, and she nods.</p><p>"<em>Words</em>, woman." Striga exhales slowly, a growl lacing through it.</p><p>"<em>Yes</em>."</p><p>"Good." Striga bends her arms and dips her chin, giving Morana another little kiss, this time to the forehead. "You have already been so patient, a few moments more won't bring you any harm." And then she kisses her lips, deep and reassuring, taking the high-pitched mewls as a sign that Morana understands. "Now let me savor you."</p><p>All resistance fades, Morana feels herself surrendering, and, <em>oh</em>, what a beautiful feeling.</p><p>Striga continues when she feels satisfied with Morana's concession, but for now she will leave her hands where they are. She likes the way Morana strains against them the slightest bit, though it isn't in an effort to escape; Morana is simply reacting, her fingers curling and releasing as her entire body seems to under Striga's mouth. Striga kisses her nose again, glad Morana accepts it with more amusement than frustration, and that is the sign she needed that Morana was ready to continue. The next kiss is on the tip of her chin, and then Striga uses her own nose to nudge her head back a little further, a silent request that Morana bare her throat.</p><p>She kisses the junction of her jaw and neck, decides she likes the feel of her skin there, and then opens her mouth wide to drag her teeth along the line of the thick tendon to her collarbone. Morana shudders under her, exhale staggering, and then she's quick to tear breath back into her lungs when Striga retraces the path of her teeth with the flat of her tongue. It makes Morana's hips buck again.</p><p>"Be still." Striga rasps just below Morana's ear, and now her breath is warmer, heavier. "Or do you need me to <em>keep you still</em>?" Striga can only grin and nip at Morana's ear when the only answer she can give is a strangled groan.</p><p>Striga shifts her hands, easily able to trap both Morana's wrists in just one, and uses her now free hand to possessively clutch Morana's hip, pulling her resolutely further from the edge of the bed. Then, with that same hand she cups Morana's knee and pushes, her thighs easily parting to make room for the broad, squared spread of Striga's hips. She descends slowly, intentionally, giving Morana but ounces of her weight at a time to make sure she <em>feels</em> it.</p><p>But all this does nothing to keep her still, not really. Her legs instinctively circle Striga's waist and tighten, her hips shamelessly canting against her.</p><p>Morana feels as though her heart is on the verge of bursting, and part of her hopes it does, because this euphoria is maddening. "Please let me touch you," she pleads breathlessly, gently struggling against Striga's powerful hand. "<em>Please</em>,"</p><p>Striga answers with a rumbling exhale, releasing Morana's wrists and twisting her arms beneath her, kissing her again as she lifts her up with a grunt, simply because she can. Morana whimpers into her mouth, taloned fingers dancing over Striga's shoulders and the hard planes of her back beneath waves of sable tresses. The change of position has Morana's head spinning, but she still loves the sensation of Striga bearing her weight, the way their bodies press together and how Morana feels like she is situated at the highest point in all the world. "You're so strong," she murmurs between hungry kisses. "I must be weightless to you."</p><p>Striga groans low in her chest at the compliment, silently surprised at how it affects her, makes her core clench. She nuzzles the bend where Morana's neck and shoulder meet because she doesn't have the words to respond. Her mouth finds Morana's collarbone and latches on, fangs tempting to leave marks, and she loves the way Morana tenses and whimpers in her arms.</p><p>Striga kisses the hollow of Morana's throat and then pulls back enough to speak. "Lean back,"</p><p>"Hm?"</p><p>"Lean back, I want to look at you." she repeats. "Don't worry, I won't let you fall."</p><p>"I know." Morana sighs into Striga's hair, still relishing the beautiful pinch of pain left from Striga's teeth against her skin. "I always feel so safe with you."</p><p>There's that feeling again, an unconscious flex of the muscles in Striga's most intimate place that has her bones shaking with a pleasured groan. It isn't like Striga has never been complimented before, but...perhaps it's different now because it's <em>her</em>; she knows Morana isn't trying to buy her with flattery, it's all painfully sincere and vulnerable and...<em>mercy</em>, so good to hear.</p><p>Striga keeps one arm around her waist, and then the palm of her free hand fans out and smooths over Morana's sternum, encouraging her to lean back and bend over her arm. Morana thinks she understands and stretches, her body bowing for a moment, muscles tensing and standing out in soft relief beneath her skin as her arms and head drop back. Morana allows herself to feel the gravity around her, the sensation of almost falling and knowing she is perfectly safe here. There's something powerful in it.</p><p>"You're so beautiful." Striga exhales softly, shamelessly taking her in with wide pupils and appearing painfully human. Her eyes unconsciously trace the beauty marks across Morana's body, briefly fixed on the ones around her navel before realizing they mark her thighs as well. Striga makes a mental note to perhaps take a closer look at them some time, as even this passing glance has her fondly intrigued.</p><p>When Morana lifts her head Striga will meet her gaze eagerly, seemingly projecting everything else she wishes she had the capacity to articulate through that invisible tether. Striga watches as Morana puts her hands behind her head, cradling it, and cuts a knowing, relaxed smile, Morana's soft blue eyes set with a certain smugness -she knows how beautiful she is and relishes in seeing someone else properly appreciating her.</p><p>"You've stopped kissing me." Morana feigns an audible but unseen pout. "That lesson isn't over yet."</p><p>"Of course." Striga nods, appearing truly remorseful as she drops her attention back to Morana's body, absently wetting her lips with a quick pass of her tongue.</p><p>Striga is quick to smooth her hand back around to support Morana's shoulders, sitting back on her own heels to let her quaking thighs rest a moment. She presses a slow, open-mouth kiss where her hand had just been, over Morana's sternum, over where her heart thrums, and she swears she can taste the life in her skin. There's warmth in her now, the slightest bit of sweat, and Striga feels a fresh charge of gooseflesh racing over her body. <em>I'm doing this. I am making her feel this way.</em> And the brief, fragile thought only drives her building hunger that much harder. Her kisses drift upward to the hollow of Morana's throat again, the pit of where her collarbones meet, and then back down. Her eyes lift to meet Morana's once more, silently asking for permission as her kisses start moving away from center, her verdant gaze flitting towards Morana's breast. Morana's answer is a sharp, dimpled grin and a single fang catching her bottom lip; it's enough to make Striga chuckle softly into her skin, Morana jumping a little at the vibrations.</p><p>Morana watches as Striga appears to study her again, those green eyes drifting with the rise and fall of Morana's chest. Her hands card gently through Striga's hair as if to carefully encourage her to proceed, Morana doing her best to keep her desire and building impatience in check -something made easier when she acknowledges what looks like adoration and naked interest in Striga's gaze.</p><p>Striga frees up her hand again to palm one breast, her eyes lifting to watch Morana's reaction, feeling her own heart lurch as her eyes appear to roll back before they close and she releases a trembling breath. Morana is soft and seemingly agreeable to Striga's somewhat experimental touches. The pad of Striga's thumb finds a firm token of flesh and toys with it, unable to stop the little laugh when Morana all but jumps out of her arms.</p><p>"Is that good?" she asks, her voice laced with amusement and a certain awe. Morana simply nods, words not presently feasible, and kisses Striga's forehead before resting her own against it. "A reaction like that, I worried that I had hurt you."</p><p>"No, no," Morana assures her quickly, her voice raspy and fractured. "Intense." Because it's been so long -far <em>too</em> long- since someone has touched her like this.</p><p>"I see. Good." And Striga sees very well, now focusing on the breast just in front of her. She wets her lips and presses a testing kiss to Morana's dark nipple, earning another body wide jolt and a whimper, and then a breathless cry when she closes her mouth around it.</p><p>"<em>Striga</em>," Morana claws at Striga's back and shoulders so she doesn't pull her hair, thankful that Striga's hide was tough enough to withstand it. Her nerves crackle with sensation, her core clenching so hard the tension borders on painful, but what a delicious pain it would be. The warming wetness of Striga's mouth, the eager draw of it, and her gently working tongue is driving Morana mad, making her hips shamelessly grind against Striga's firm belly. When Striga tenses her arm around Morana's waist to keep her still, it sounds like she had squeezed every last breath of air out of Morana's lungs as well. "S-Striga, please, no more, I need," the thought breaks up in her mouth, shredded to ribbons around her fangs with a pitiful moan.</p><p>"Tell me, my lady," Striga rumbles against her breast. She freezes when she feels Morana's hands settle around her face, pushing against her until she retreats.</p><p>"Be still so I can speak," Morana begs, a breathless laugh hitching the end of the demand. She swallows hard and pants, collecting herself enough to continue. "I need you to touch me, I can't wait any longer."</p><p>"As you wish. Though," she smirks, mostly to herself, "may I continue kissing you?" And she receives a prompt answer when Morana tilts her head back and pulls her in, crushing their lips together.</p><p>Striga straightens her legs, unconsciously relieved, and moves slowly to lay Morana back down with her head cushioned by the messy pile of pillows. She has to pry Morana's thighs from around her waist, soothing her noise of puzzled displeasure with another kiss before explaining that she simply wishes to lie beside her. "I want to watch you." After she settles she gathers Morana in her arms to lavish her with kisses, reveling in the lively warmth that has gathered in her body. Of course Morana reciprocates.</p><p>"Now teach me what you like." Striga whispers hotly against her lips, one hand pushing at Morana's hips to put her flat on her back again.</p><p>Morana doesn't hesitate to reach for that hand at her hip and grip it by the wrist. Striga smiles against her mouth as Morana pushes her hand down, using her greater strength to force a slow pace of descent in spite of Morana's obvious effort. Morana grunts and nips at her bottom lip, a display of frustration that only seems to amuse Striga that much more.</p><p>"You're so close, my lady, don't rush me now."</p><p>Morana answers with a sound of lamentation, but she will force herself to concede, to trust that Striga only wanted her to fully enjoy this. Her urgency eases, her grip on Striga's wrist less desperate, and she busies herself with getting her tongue in Striga's mouth instead. Now she isn't so much guiding Striga's hand -because it's clear she knows what Morana wants- as she is waiting to offer direction.</p><p>Striga found Morana's hand to be a comfort, stilling a bit of anxiety attempting to work through her and make her hand unsteady. She smooths her hand across Morana's thigh, because that beautiful brown skin just <em>begs</em> to be touched, worshiped. Up to the bend of her knee and then back down, drifting lower to grab a plentiful, eager handful of her backside, making Morana whimper and tense. She feels traces of slick there, her own pulse jumping with realization. <em>Because of me?</em></p><p>"<em>Please</em> touch me," Morana begs quietly, almost sobs.</p><p>Striga shifts beside her, propping up on her elbow and half leaning over her. She wants to, <em>needs</em> to watch Morana's reaction, and has her bottom lip tucked between her teeth in anticipation. Morana looks up at her, Morana's expression something between blissful and broken. Her breath hitches when Striga's fingers find and twine through soft, dewy curls, her mouth hanging open in wordless, soundless exaltation. Her hand thoughtlessly moves from Striga's wrist to settle over her much larger hand, her two middle fingers encouraging Striga's with gentle pressure, silently begging. Her other hand has taken a threateningly secure hold of Striga's other arm, talons half biting into a thick, tensing bicep.</p><p>Of all the things Striga has ever forgotten or stands to forget, part of her prays that the sound Morana makes when she dips her fingertips into wet, silken heat is not one of them; it is a raw mixture of longing and relief and <em>want</em>, and it draws a look of delighted awe across Striga's face. Morana's brow is beautifully knit, dappled in sweat, her cheeks red with heated blood, and her eyes -<em>mercy</em>, those eyes- brim brightly with adoration and hunger. Morana removes her hand from Striga's, seeming confident she no longer needed guidance, and puts it to Striga's cheek before pulling her down into a searing kiss.</p><p>Striga works slowly, gently at first, following the lead of Morana's reactions; the clutching of her hands, the talons on her arm and now in her hair, the way her breath hitches or her belly flutters, all give Striga vital information that she immediately puts to use. Just using the pads of her fingers, Striga explores her, and is amazed how Morana is already rhythmically canting her hips. Featherlight, barely there circles around Morana's clit has her back bowing sharply, her voice breaking around a word Striga doesn't know but still loves somehow. And she just keeps going, stuttering what could be full and feverish sentences.</p><p>Striga dips her head and kisses Morana's exposed throat, her hand still well at work. "I cannot understand." she rumbles.</p><p>"Inside," Morana pants against Striga's ear, "I want you inside me."</p><p><em>I want you, I want you, I want you</em> it rings in Striga's head like her own pulse, hot, powerful, setting her whole body alight with something she doesn't have a name for yet. But it's good, <em>so good</em>. It stokes her hunger, spurs her to put open-mouthed and sucking kisses to Morana's throat. Her thumb replaces her fingers against Morana's clit, keeping the friction soft and steady as her fingers sink gradually lower. Morana shudders beneath her, more incomprehensible language as Striga's fingers edge her entrance, only a little teasing. Morana trembles and begs and whimpers, a sharp gasp hissing between her teeth when one of Striga's thick fingers pushes into her with hardly any resistance.</p><p>Striga purrs against Morana's neck, nipping her in reaction to the tightening of Morana's claws against her skin.</p><p>"<em>More</em>,"</p><p>"You're sure?"</p><p>"<em>Yes</em>."</p><p>Morana's arms wrap around Striga, pulling her upper body off the bed so she can tuck against Striga's big shoulder and attempt to muffle the positively lewd moan as Striga eases a second finger into her. Finally, <em>finally</em> Morana had one of those incredible hands between her legs and curling inside of her, finally she feels not only full but <em>whole</em> in some way, in a way no one else had ever made her feel. "<em>I love you</em>," she weeps in Arabic, "<em>I love you</em>,<em> I love you so</em>," Because it's the truth, and her heart aches like her core, but out of nothing but adoration as opposed to lust.</p><p>Striga's digits are long and strong and thick, and are quick to fall into a steady but easy pace. She marvels at the way Morana reacts, the little pants and mewls, the unconscious bucking of her hips to increase the friction, and the fluttering of her muscles around Striga's fingers -fluttering that steadily turns into powerful clutching. What Striga would give to understand the words spilling against her shoulder; though there's some discernible intent behind them that, coupled with the temerity of Morana's hold on her, touches Striga's heart. She puts a little more force behind her ministrations as a show of appreciation, and grins against Morana's neck in amusement at the sounds she makes.</p><p>"Just like that," Morana's voice trembled to a higher pitch, and how she managed to find her tongue for Latin again is anyone's guess. "Don't stop."</p><p>Striga nips her in response, her fangs leaving little welts on Morana's skin.</p><p>"You're so good to me, I'm so close."</p><p>The praise, Striga thinks, that has to be it. Something about it, or something about the way Morana says such things, or it could be simply that it is Morana saying them, sets Striga's soul alight in a way she doesn't fully comprehend but feels all the same. Surely she would give it more attention later, when her good lady wasn't raking her back and arm with her talons, all but screaming into her shoulder as Morana tenses and writhes wildly under her.</p><p>It came quickly, too quickly, like a peel of thunder from a too-close bolt of lightning. The desperate flight, the ecstasy, and that powerful, involuntary clench of her womb crashed through Morana before she was ready. She clings to Striga, trying to ride out the tremors as she gasps for air she doesn't need, but Striga's hand continues to move inside of her.</p><p>"I'm not stopping," Striga growls. "You told me not to stop."</p><p>And Morana doesn't have the words or the clarity to argue. She accepts it, embraces the sweet surrender, and succumbs. Happily.</p><p>She isn't sure how much time passes before Striga is finally finished with her, only that the sweetest heated haze falls over her as Striga lulls her down from one last climax. Morana has long since collapsed back onto the bed, boneless with her limbs half sprawled out, ringlets of hair sticking to her face with sweat. Her panting breaths steadily quiet, but she does not have the strength to open her eyes and take stock of herself, so she simply enjoys the darkness behind her eyelids and the strangely soothing static of her thoughtless mind.</p><p>The next thing she comprehends is the blankets being pulled over her, and Striga's big, warm body closing in around her, pulling her against her broad chest. Morana turns and tucks into her, a breathless yet pleasured hum dragging free at the gentle stroking of a hand against her cheek and a kiss to her forehead.</p><p>"Suppose you are satisfied with my grasp of the lesson?" Striga asks softly, smiling. Morana's answer isn't so much words as it is a sound, a half formed laugh. Striga finds one of Morana's hands with her own and brings the knuckles to her lips for a kiss, then keeps hold of it to draw circles with her thumb across the tendons along the back of Morana's hand. "Though I will understand if you feel the need to revisit the matter from time to time."</p><p>Morana smiles against her chest with another little hum. "But you," she slurs.</p><p>"Shh, I took <em>great</em> pleasure in tending to you." There's more to it than just that, Striga realizes as she speaks, but now wasn't the time for that either. Instead she says "You make such beautiful sounds, my lady." and presses another reverent kiss to her forehead.</p><p>Morana feels powerless, but not in a way that frightens her. Here, in Striga's mighty but gentle embrace, sleep is swift approaching and there is no apprehension in it, no worries for things that need to be done or matters that require her attention. There is no danger, there is nothing beyond the circle of Striga's arms where Morana feels perfectly safe and <em>loved</em>. Part of her tells her to just go ahead and say it -<em>tell her you love her in a language she knows</em>- simply in the hopes of hearing it spoken back to her. That would make this moment perfect, but reaching for it, she feels, runs just as great a risk of destroying it. Morana feels her brow furrow in temporary dismay, and she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth to keep herself quiet. Perhaps another night, after Morana has had proper opportunity to truly prove to Striga that her love is real, whatever that may entail.</p><p>Sleep comes to them both in time, it carries them throughout the remainder of the night and the entirety of the following day.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><span class="u">Author's Note:</span> Well, yeah, there's that. Not entirely sure what the rest of the fic will look like in terms of chapter construction, aside from a couple things, though I imagine it will be something like a bunch of little moments of their relationship as it grows to the story's conclusion, over a loosely established period of time. I've got some wholesome ideas and a little bit of inter-personal conflict that isn't nearly as bad as you might think it is. Thanks for reading and hope you have a great one.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Chapter Twenty-Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Taubert had come to fetch her first thing after sunset.</p>
<p>Morana had so desperately wanted to ignore the gentle knocking at Striga's door; she had been comfortably sprawled atop Striga's body, the gentlest ache in her muscles with warmth still trapped in the blankets around them even after so long, and simply wished to stay there. But the tapping sound was insistent, and she was somewhat awake and didn't wish for Striga to be disturbed, so Morana carefully, <em>so</em><span> carefully unwound their limbs and eased out of bed to collect her clothes. Striga only stirred a little, mumbling something in Slavic as her arms flopped onto the pillows above her head. Morana is quick to try and lull her back to sleep with soft words and kisses. "Rest a while longer, love. I will return soon."</span></p>
<p>Striga rumbles and huffs, ultimately settling back into slumbering silence. For a moment Morana can only smile and helplessly adore her, and then her better sensibilities have her back on task.</p>
<p>Looking as presentable as possible, Morana answers the door and steps out into the corridor altogether, quietly closing the door behind her. She and Taubert walk and talk, the captain readily informing her that the hunter is presently being prepared for interrogation, should Morana wish to proceed.</p>
<p>"Naturally." she answers quickly, resolutely nodding mostly to herself. "I will meet you there shortly."</p>
<p>The two eventually separated where the corridor forks, Morana meaning to return to her chambers as she has a few arrangements to make as well.</p>
<p>
  <span> Like everything else about her work, there is a system that she ritualistically follows; she needed to change clothes, put her hair up, she needed time to settle into the proper head space, because Morana regards her preparations with the same gravity as the execution. How the work begins is pivotal to how it ends, how effective it is, and Morana firmly believes that a proper interrogation should begin before the subject even sees her and only </span>
  <em>truly</em>
  <span> end after the subject is dead.</span>
</p>
<p>She dresses in all black, a tunic and trousers that aren't form fitting; it's partly for utility as dark colors weren't so troublesome to clean, but also psychological as it was less for a subject's mind to work with. Human minds constantly struggle to make sense of things, to glean information, especially in times of distress as a way of attempting to stave off panic, and Morana means to keep it that way even with something so trivial as the dimensions of her body. Solid colors also draw greater attention to the parts of her that she wants the subject to focus on, her face and her hands, because that's all they needed to see, to be afraid of.</p>
<p>As she grooms herself and dresses, Morana is mentally preparing herself, meditating in a way. It's a little more difficult this time, as this was much more personal, even though she knows that a certain detachment is paramount to a proper interrogation. There is a certain anger in her, disgust, and she knows she shouldn't let those feelings follow her into that room, because, even now, she would love nothing more than to slit that hunter's throat.</p>
<p>
  <em>He will pay, rest assured. You will see to that. But work must come first.</em>
</p>
<p>Yes. Work must come first. A deep, settling breath tames her mind, settles her anxious heart, and a cold, void-like serenity soon settles in.</p>
<p>
  <span> By the time Morana leaves her chambers, even the way she carries herself has a different air to it. Her gait is still even, her back straight, no wasted movement to be seen, but the energy around her is...something else, something wholly unique to how she otherwise conducts herself. This frigid presence seems to fill any space she occupies, great or small, to capacity, and Taubert even senses it before Morana enters the hewn stone chamber in the lower reaches of the castle. Morana pays zero attention to the human man in the room, to his nakedness or the way he shakes under the iron confines that hold him fast to the chair he occupies, and instead gives it all to Taubert. As one of her shadows, the captain often sits in on interrogations, primarily as a second set of ears to keep track of the information that's extracted, that she might relay it to the others if Morana is otherwise unable, secondarily Morana is also convinced the captain takes a certain interest in watching her work.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "</span>
  <em>We can begin at your leisure, my lady.</em>
  <span>" she says formally. Taubert occupies the only other chair in the room, situated beneath a torch and with a small table in front of her with a sizable leather bundle sitting just beside her hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "</span>
  <em>Any personal affects</em>
  <span>? </span>
  <em>Tattoos or other such things</em>
  <span>?" Morana asks softly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "</span>
  <em>Just this</em>
  <span>." Taubert fishes into a pocket as Morana presents a waiting hand, one brow cocking up at the delicate weight of a string of beads.</span>
</p>
<p>Morana inspects the rosary closely for a moment; it's very well made, the beads appearing to be finely crafted, sky-blue glass, or even polished stone, and each are nearly uniform in size and shape. If this was made by human hands, they were truly gifted indeed. The small iron crucifix on its end is intricately detailed, hauntingly lifelike and incredibly well kept. Either this hunter was an exceptional devotee or a neophyte. Discerning which would be pivotal to how Morana approaches this.</p>
<p>
  <span> "</span>
  <em>Has he said anything yet</em>
  <span>?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "</span>
  <em>He called me a satan-sucking whore</em>
  <span>." Taubert just smiles. "</span>
  <em>His has a more southern dialect, if that helps</em>
  <span>."</span>
</p>
<p>Morana smirk as well, allowing it to be the only manifestation of the emotion, feeling the need to keep her manner as neutral as possible. Morana thinks to say something else, or ask something, but if Taubert understood him, he could surely understand them and was likely listening to them now, so she withholds. Morana then nods to her, her eyes focused on the leather bundle as she nudges it with her hand. It unfurls across the table, each successful turn revealing Morana's collection of tools one at a time. Each one is an iron article of cruelty and exceptionally well kept, to the point where it is positively impossible to know how old they actually are.</p>
<p>She studies her options briefly, taking one last mental, self-appraisal before turning to face the helpless hunter. It feels like flipping a switch, her slitted pupils becoming paper thin, her mind focused like the edge of a razor. She threads the rosary beads between her fingers, absently counting them, unconsciously making them part of her sort of meditative state, and fixes her eyes resolutely on the hunter.</p>
<p>"<em>Who sent you</em>?" Morana asks neutrally. It's best to start out slow, to build the pressure carefully. Make the subject believe you don't know anything and that this is only business. "<em>Did they offer to pay you</em>?"</p>
<p>Morana allows a few minutes to tick by in her head, beads rhythmically passing beneath her thumb, not at all surprised or upset that she receives no answer. She hadn't expected to, frankly, as everyone is quiet in the beginning. In time she takes unhurried steps to cross the room, stopping in front of the hunter and appearing to study him a little closer. He's young, no scars that she can readily see. His eyes are shut but not tightly, and she can easily hear the swift but not reckless beating of his heart. He's afraid, but not as much as she would like him to be. Perhaps he's had some training. Not that it will pose a problem.</p>
<p>"<em>Hungarian nobility</em>?" she continues along the initial line of questioning, now listening to his heart rather intently. If he will not speak, his body could still offer some insight. "<em>Royalty...the church</em>?"</p>
<p>No change, no answer. Either he is in exceptional control of his body, or she wasn't close enough to the truth. Then again, all three of those things were intrinsically linked, so it didn't much matter if one was true versus the others. On the other hand-</p>
<p>Morana stops suddenly, her attention snapping downward to her own hand as it reflexively jerks around the rosary. There's a <em>burning</em> between her fingers, an abrupt hiss of heat that's there and gone again, leaving behind the littlest welt in the shape of a portion of the crucifix. She cocks her head, the only manifestation of her curiosity. <em>Interesting</em>.</p>
<p>Interesting <em>and</em> helpful. It had not burned Taubert as she made a near obsessive habit of keeping her hands covered, but this means the crucifix is consecrated, and has held onto its sanctity. Relics such as these are only as holy as their keepers, and this man must surely be devout.</p>
<p>Good. Now she has an angle, and now she can discover how to break him.</p>
<p>Morana takes another pair of steps towards him, reaching out with her free, uninjured hand. She uses her fingers with a deceptive gentleness to open one of his clenched fists, feeling a flicker of amusement in his not resisting while the rest of his body tenses at her touch, and lets the beads of the rosary coil into the middle of his sweaty palm. She closes his hand for him and steps away, waiting for his reaction. Almost immediately his hand starts moving, pulling the beads through his fingers much like Morana had been. He's praying, and judging by the speed the beads pass beneath his thumb, he's doing it incredibly fast. Clearly he is better at praying than hunting vampires.</p>
<p>She continues to wait, going so far as to let him complete whatever mysteries he was meant to recite. Morana thinks to reclaim the rosary, but decides to let him keep it; a little comfort that she will render powerless later, no doubt.</p>
<p>He appears to relax, though his heart continues to thrum powerfully behind his ribs. He finally opens his eyes but keeps them trained on the floor. "<em>Kill me if you wish</em>,<em> I am not going to tell you anything</em>."</p>
<p>"<em>Rest assured</em>,<em> I fully intend to</em>." Morana nods once, folding her hands behind her.</p>
<p>"<em>Do your worst</em>."</p>
<p>Not that she ever felt she needed permission, but it did give Morana a certain thrill to hear. Something to appreciate later.</p>
<p>This man is ready to die, that much is quite clear. He is stalwart in his faith, perhaps keen to the idea of martyring himself for the cause of his order. His resignation suggests that he had considered such a fate befalling him at some point, so his present nerves are only rational -like waiting on the block for the headsman's ax. Perhaps he is expecting something relatively quick and painless? To a point, most likely. That's something else she can use, provided she can reveal such a truth.</p>
<p><em>We shall see</em>.</p>
<p>"<em>You will surely die here, yes</em>.<em> I'll make no illusion to the contrary</em>.<em> However</em>," she waits, feeling a twist of something cold and powerful in her chest when he finally raises his dark eyes to her. "<em>I am willing to offer you a choice in the matter</em>."</p>
<p>He just chuckles unevenly, his sweat slick face offering a curious and beckoning expression.</p>
<p>"<em>You </em><em><b>will</b></em><em> die</em>," she repeats, "<em>but your cooperation shall dictate how...</em><em><b>permanent</b></em><em> your death will be</em>."</p>
<p>The color leaves his face and his body tenses. Morana can hear his pulse all but roaring through his body. Now she<em> knows</em> she can break him.</p>
<p>"<em>I will not serve you as some cursed thrall</em>." he seems surprised at the amount of solid authority projecting through his voice.</p>
<p>"<em>Oh no, that isn't at all what I was implying</em>. <em>There are a number of things I could do with you; we employ a number of magicians here, consider what they may attempt to do with a fresh body.</em>"</p>
<p>That didn't appear to frighten him much, his heart rate unchanging. Fair enough, that threat was much too vague.</p>
<p>"<em><b>I</b></em><em>, on the other hand, know exactly what I will do</em>.<em> Should you refuse to tell me what I want to know, I intend to torture you until you do</em>.<em> Understand that I can keep you alive for as long as I need</em>." She watches his Adam's apple bob below his chin with a hard swallow, but his heart rate still holds steady, though swiftly. "<em>Then I intend to bleed you dry, </em><em><b>but</b></em>,"</p>
<p>Morana takes another step, and another, lifting one foot to put her boot between his thighs and brace on the seat, leaning forward. Her demeanor remains unchanged, cool and calculating and quietly vicious, thin pupils slicing into him as she meets his gaze. Her tone is just above a whisper. "<em><b>After</b></em><em> that</em>, <em>I shall lock you in a box barely big enough to breathe in</em>,<em> and I will bury you</em>,<em> perhaps shore you up behind one of the walls here in the palace</em>.<em> In any case, wherever it is I put you</em>, <em>there you will </em><em><b>stay</b></em>,<em> there you will </em><em><b>turn</b></em>,<em> and there you will be forgotten with your </em><em><b>hunger</b></em>. <em><b>Even by your god</b></em>, <em>as he will no longer want you</em>.</p>
<p>"<em>All your devotion</em>,<em> all your faith...will be forfeit</em>.<em> And should you happen to expire from starvation</em>,<em> which could take </em><em><b>centuries</b></em>,<em> well</em>," Morana chances a single, humorless and edged smirk, "<em>then your hell </em><em><b>truly</b></em><em> begins, doesn't it</em>?"</p>
<p>He swallows again, still saying nothing, his eyes now wide and terrified.</p>
<p>"<em>Which sin could you learn to die with, I wonder</em>? <em>Betraying your brotherhood</em>, <em>or your god</em>?"</p>
<p>She eases away from him, both feet back on the floor as she turns away and walks back to the table. Taubert is grinning up at her, looking thoroughly impressed, and for the moment Morana allows herself to soak in the silent approval. The hunter needed time to process his situation anyway. Then...</p>
<p>"<em>We are called the Order of Ecclesia</em>." he says, voice shaking and broken.</p>
<p>Morana smiles back at Taubert, all teeth. "<em>Go on</em>,"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>(--)</em>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Striga firmly believes that crawling through the mud, which she has done numerous times over the course of her life, is significantly easier than attempting to claw her way up to full awareness from this deep, </span>
  <em>deep</em>
  <span> sleep. Through a host of grumbling curses and half flailing limbs, Striga eventually sits up, her hair an absolute mess around her head and shoulders, completely concealing her face. She pushes hooked fingers across her scalp, pulling it all back and behind her shoulders where it belongs, then scrubs her face roughly with both hands to chase off the last of her drowsiness.</span>
</p>
<p><span> Looking around the room she finds it awash in shades of gray. </span><em>What time is it...surely after sundown...how did I manage to sleep so late?</em><span> Could be lingering fatigue from the other night, could be the surprising softness of the bed, or it could be the comfort of the other body...that is no longer there. Striga's palm pops against the vacancy in the sheets beside her, a blossom of anxiety twisting in her chest at the cool linen beneath her hand. </span><em>She </em><span>was </span><em>here, wasn't she? Surely my memory isn't so poor as to conjure up something like </em><span>that;</span> <span>unless all of it had been a dream, as Striga had been dreaming of Morana all day. </span><em>No...no, it </em><span>must have </span><em>happened.</em><span> And for a time she sits in bed and nervously spins her ring, trying to settle herself.</span></p>
<p>
  <span> Striga does eventually make it completely out of bed and dresses herself, her clothes easy enough to find as they were right beside the bed where she had left them last night. It also serves to cement her confidence in the notion that last night had actually happened; she almost laughs at herself, shaking her head in a mixture of awe and disbelief. </span>
  <em>I...I made love to Morana, and...it was wonderful.</em>
  <span> Now she does laugh, more so at the butterflies in her chest than at herself. Then those butterflies turn a different color, </span>
  <em>I hope she thinks so, too. She certainly </em>
  <span>seemed</span>
  <em> to at the time...</em>
</p>
<p>But if Morana had enjoyed it, wouldn't she have stayed?</p>
<p>
  <em>Don't be ridiculous, she is a working woman after all, the right hand of a queen. There are a myriad of more important things for her to worry about.</em>
</p>
<p>Right; affairs of state take precedent over soldiers, lovers or not. Striga just nods, reflexively accepts it, having told herself countless variations of that notion an equally countless number of times before, the only difference now being the circumstances.</p>
<p>
  <em>Lovers...</em>
</p>
<p>The word hangs on Striga's mind as the lightning glass comes to life and she goes about her room in search of a distraction. Without much thought she snatches up one of the small knives still strewn across her common table and flings it at the barricade. She winces hard, even groaning when it hits nowhere near the center of, well, anything, and immediately puts the one she had intended to throw next back on the table. She wasn't going to risk putting out a window.</p>
<p>
  <span> Now she's spinning her ring again and scowling, trying to focus enough to simply form a complete thought. Her eyes flit absently about the room, eventually settling on her desk, and on the book she had put aside last night. It's enough to wrest her focus and pull her across the room, roughly pulling the chair out and having a seat.</span>
</p>
<p>The minute she had seen the book on the shelf last night, Striga immediately considered the possibility that Morana had chosen it for a specific purpose. She had never been one to believe in coincidence, and she wasn't keen to start now, not when the only person she knows that speaks Arabic chooses to leave a primer for the language in her room. Looking at the book now, her only curiosity is what Morana might be expecting her to do with it, if anything.</p>
<p>
  <em>She wants me to broaden my horizons...wouldn't it be a pleasant surprise if I started speaking her own language back to her?</em>
  <span> Striga chuckles to herself, thinking back to those few months ago when Morana had done something similar to her. Then she can't help but wonder if Morana had gone out of her way to learn Striga's mother tongue simply for her, just another way to attempt to build a bridge between them.</span>
</p>
<p>In any case, the notion carried a certain merit, a delightful and innocent intrigue.</p>
<p>
  <em>You would understand her when you're making love.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <span> There is </span>
  <em>that</em>
  <span>. Perhaps the endeavor would be worth while, because Striga is </span>
  <em>desperately</em>
  <span> curious. But linguistics have never been her strong suit; she is multilingual, yes, but it had been a considerable chore and taken her months to accomplish even basic conversational ability compared to her peers in the past.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>But it's Morana. It would likely make her rather happy, doesn't </em>
  <span>that</span>
  <em> make it worth it?</em>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Yes. Yes it does. With that resolute decision comes a certain serenity, a clarity of thought, and then that thought tumbles into another, into another, until Striga hatches a plan of sorts. Something a part of her </span>
  <em>knows</em>
  <span>, while the rest of her </span>
  <em>hopes</em>
  <span> will bring her good lady a unique joy that she would never forget. It's ambitious, yes, would take a great amount of time, certainly, but, again, is more than worth the effort to attempt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Striga is smiling to herself as she relaxes into her chair and opens the book. That smile steadily withers and dies over the next few minutes as she realizes she wouldn't be able to use this alone to learn the language. She snaps the book closed with a resigned sigh; she would need a teacher, someone to speak it to her so she could actually retain the information, that </span>
  <em>wasn't</em>
  <span> Morana -this would make a terribly nice </span>
  <em>surprise</em>
  <span>, after all. </span>
  <em>Is</em>
  <span> there anyone else? Perhaps one of the archivists? It's as good a place to start her search as any. Striga swears quietly to herself as she stands up, going about pulling her boots on before leaving her chambers, book in hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Thankfully, the most difficult facet of Striga's endeavor was simply </span>
  <em>finding</em>
  <span> someone in the archives to speak with. The castle's collection was vast, as was the chamber that held it all, and though it was well staffed, finding any one of the keepers was a trial of it's own. It takes the better part of an hour for her to finally track one down, having to all but sprint down one lane of shelves to catch them after having lost track of them several times. </span>
</p>
<p>Striga gives an audible shrug of relief to find that the castle was home to several linguists, one of which being a perfect fit for her purposes. The vampire she is introduced to immediately reminds Striga of Sameena, the same youthful, round features, rich brown skin with some tattoos on her hands, but a touch of the truth surrounding her age is in her long, silvery hair. She regards Striga with dark, almost black eyes, a very no-nonsense air about her, but her voice is soft and wispy and strangely sweet on the ears. That rigid demeanor slips away from her the instant Striga explains herself, suddenly conducting herself in a much more maternal fashion, even smiling as she says she would be happy to help. They find a quiet corner of the archive to occupy for the next few hours, mostly discussing the arrangement of regular lessons and the structure of the lessons themselves. Striga gently warns that she has never been a very good student, to which the older vampire smiles, assuring her that there is no such thing as poor students, just insufficient teachers.</p>
<p>Striga will excuse herself with a strange, refreshing confidence. She knows this matter will still take a great deal of time and effort, but she hasn't any doubt at present that she will be able to achieve her goal.</p>
<p>"Why, general, fancy meeting you here."</p>
<p>Striga skids to a stop en route to the door, head turning sharply with her brows up. "Oh, Lenore. Good evening."</p>
<p>The smaller sister smiles sweetly and with all her teeth, her hands folded in front of her as she approaches. "It's good to see you up and about, you look well."</p>
<p>"I am, thank you." Striga responds unsteadily, trying to get through the lingering surprise of the encounter. "Did you need something?"</p>
<p>"I was just returning a few books." Lenore gestures over her shoulder. "Are you looking for Morana?" She can't help but ask seeing as Striga is alone at present and that is surely unusual, all things considered.</p>
<p>"Just seeing to a small matter here, though that had crossed my mind. Would you happen to know where she is?"</p>
<p>Lenore tucks her chin, sympathy shifting into her eyes. "I'm afraid Morana and Taubert are both preoccupied with work at the moment, and there is really no telling when they will be finished."</p>
<p>"I had gathered, but it is good to be certain, thank you." her response sounds more disappointed than she means it to, but there's little she can do about it now that it's out. "Well, good evening, sister."</p>
<p>"Now wait a moment," Lenore reaches out in congress with one quick, lengthy step to gently catch Striga by one pinky finger. "You're not going to just wait on her all by yourself, are you?"</p>
<p>Striga looks back at her, looks away, and then back again, only moving her eyes. "I...yes?"</p>
<p>
  <span> "Oh no, that simply won't do." Lenore shakes her head and pulls Striga's hand between both of her much smaller ones. "It's a </span>
  <em>shame</em>
  <span> you insist on spending so much time by yourself, and we've never really taken the time to become better acquainted, so why not join me? I'll arrange for dinner and we could chat, for a little while at least."</span>
</p>
<p>Striga starts and stops at a response, her mouth opening and closing with the numerous attempts. Something in her doesn't know how to say no. "V-very well, as you wish."</p>
<p>"Excellent." Lenore beams up at her, gathering Striga's one meaty arm in her own and walking her big sister unsteadily out of the archives.</p>
<p>Striga can't help but wonder what the hell just happened, but cannot find it in herself to ask such a thing out loud.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Striga came to find Lenore's chambers bright and lively in a strange, surprising way, though she would never be able to fully articulate exactly how. Something to do with the lights, she thinks; the lightning glass in Lenore's room is tinted pink, wholly unlike any of the other rooms in the castle Striga has ever been in, perhaps that has something to do with it? And if it wasn't the lights, it was certainly the noise and movements coming from her various pets that stalk about the room. Trying to track all of them gave Striga greater scope of Lenore's chambers and how they had been arranged to suit her pets: a finely carved roost for little black bats is nestled in a corner of the ceiling, half a felled tree with the bark intact took up another corner, hollows carved into its face to accommodate her owls. What looked to be empty shelves lined the walls, some much too low to serve as bookshelves, but then Striga watches some of her cats start to climb on them and realizes they weren't for books at all. A chance glance lets Striga see the collection of birdhouses ranking the rail of Lenore's balcony.</p>
<p>Striga takes a seat at Lenore's common table, and no sooner had she settled was there a raucous screech from across the room followed by the rustle of flapping wings. Bartholomew takes off from atop Lenore's bedpost and glides the short distance to the table, sliding a little when he touches down. He hops the rest of the way across the table, wings up and out, and Striga allows herself an easy smile and to put one arm up on the table. Sure enough the eager raven climbs up, inching all the way to her shoulder.</p>
<p>"<em>Baby boy</em>," he mimes, sounding rather delighted. "<em>Baby boy</em>,"</p>
<p>"Yes, yes, baby boy, I remember." Striga presents her hand, quietly marveling when the raven actually reaches out to grasp it and perch there, and then starts to stroke along his smooth back. He purrs and clicks contentedly.</p>
<p>"He really does like you." Lenore says as she approaches the table, Cassius in her arms with his big head perched atop one shoulder, that long, luxurious tail swishing languidly as she settles into the chair nearest to Striga. "Mind you, he's a bit of a slut, but I still mean that sincerely."</p>
<p>"I thought there was no slut shaming in this house?"</p>
<p>"There's no slut shaming in the <em>council room</em>." Lenore smiles with a little giggle. "Besides, Barty doesn't care, do you?"</p>
<p>"<em>Wah, wah</em>," the raven caws.</p>
<p>Striga feigns a scowl, "You made the baby cry."</p>
<p>"Well, that's what babies do, don't they?"</p>
<p>Striga nods and hums in a form of agreement, continuing to pet the bird's back. Then her face turns curious. "I cannot help but wonder how it is you came to tame so many animals."</p>
<p>"I've gotten rather good at it over the centuries, though I admittedly cheat a little bit as I had bred most of the ones I have now. Every few decades I start from scratch to keep the bloodlines healthy."</p>
<p>Striga nods again, understanding flickering across her face. It made sense. "So you just have a certain...knack for it by now?"</p>
<p>"A little magic as well, to be truthful." Lenore's grin widens, softens and sharpens at the same time somehow, and her eyes darken in a way. "It's part of the deal."</p>
<p>"Deal?"</p>
<p>"Mm-hmm," she nods slowly, her dainty talons leaving lines in Cassius fur as she pulls them down the length of the cat's flank. "Afraid I can't divulge much more, however."</p>
<p>Striga huffs, nodding again, "I had sensed as much about you."</p>
<p>"Most of our kind can." those red irises meet Striga's from across the table with a knowing glimmer. "But very few know exactly what it is."</p>
<p>"And I do not count myself among those few. It is there, yes, but I can't begin to fathom what it is."</p>
<p>"It's for the better, I think. No offense to you."</p>
<p>"None taken." Striga lilts her head. She waits to say more, Bartholomew having dropped against her shoulder and opened his wings as if to embrace her. For now he simply lays against her like that, still expecting to be petted, which she obliges. "I'm not so proud as not to acknowledge when something is beyond my scope."</p>
<p>"So it would seem. I dare say it's one of your most admirable qualities." The smile changes again, this time intrigued. "Though I would imagine if Morana were here she would readily correct me."</p>
<p>"Likely."</p>
<p>"Would it be too forward to ask how your courtship is faring so far? I won't lie, I'm <em>terribly</em> curious."</p>
<p>"I have no doubt that you are." Striga chuckles, tipping up her chin as Bartholomew shifts. "In fact I can't help but consider that is what you really asked me here for."</p>
<p>"Oh, come now, don't be so suspicious; it's <em>one</em> of the reasons, but not the only one." Lenore says shamelessly. "I truly <em>do</em> wish for us to be better friends, but I'm also a <em>hopeless</em> romantic that needs to know things!"</p>
<p>"Then perhaps you should ask Morana," Striga sighs a little, not having meant to, her amusement depleted. "She's likely better equipped to put words to how things are than I am."</p>
<p>"How do you mean?"</p>
<p>"She has had romantic relationships before." Striga answers plainly. "I have not." She doesn't know how to feel about the genuine look of surprise that Lenore casts her way, but whatever she feels, it isn't particularly good.</p>
<p>"Really?"</p>
<p>"I have no reason to lie about it."</p>
<p>"No, no, it's not that I don't believe you, just...frankly, I'm shocked." and the look on her face seems to support her claim. Then she blinks and gives her head a little shake. "In any case, it can't be going too poorly, I've seen you kiss." And that last admission sounds a little smug, self-satisfied.</p>
<p>"So? People kiss all the time." And at the same time Striga can't help but wonder why she is being so defensive, and when exactly had Lenore caught them? Perhaps it was one of her pets...</p>
<p>"But Morana doesn't just go around kissing <em>anyone</em>. She's very particular about touch, be it giving or receiving."</p>
<p>"I know." Striga says it easily, easier than she meant to, and with a touch of fondness that both is and isn't reflexive.</p>
<p>For a moment Lenore quietly watches her, trying to read her and find whatever meaning might be hidden in that simple answer. Because there is <em>something</em>, Lenore can <em>feel</em> the energy of it, but she can't really define it. And she has a sneaking suspicion that is has to do with the traces of Morana's scent on Striga; it's faint, and she only noticed it earlier when they were in close quarters in the archive, but there's no ignoring the fact that it's there. It's in Striga's skin, and that is so very telling. She will have ample time to contemplate it as their dinner arrives, the conversation stalled for the time being.</p>
<p>Striga is contemplating words as well, mostly Lenore's. She doesn't believe them to be exaggerated or untrue in any way, as Lenore knows Morana far better, but they are certainly food for thought, and they make her examine certain things through a perhaps clearer lens than before. They drift around the forming thoughts of Morana, of last night, and back through the scant few weeks of their courtship. For someone so particular to touch, Morana had been incredibly liberal with it, at least with her.</p>
<p>
  <em>Perhaps that's why it hasn't really...she never withheld it from me once she knew I was agreeable to it. Even the night we agreed to the courtship, from then on she had a hold of my arm. Everywhere we go...</em>
</p>
<p>And then last night. Morana had exposed herself completely, and not just physically; Striga had sensed it then, plain as day, that she had trusted Striga with her vulnerability and hunger. She had <em>begged</em> to be touched.</p>
<p>But sex is...just sex, isn't it?</p>
<p><em>Not to Morana. </em>And the notion carries with it the suggestion that Striga should know that. And, in a way, perhaps she does. It's just that sometimes conjoining an abstract concept with a tangible absolute is difficult for her. Still, something seems to click in her mind, and Striga feels her heart clutch in reaction. She isn't sure what she feels about this little revelation, what to call it, but it feels...monumental. Now she wishes Morana was here so they could discuss it. Without Lenore, of course.</p>
<p>Striga manages to put a bit of food in her mouth, Bartholomew have snatched a chunk of it. Her expression skews with curiosity as she chews and swallows. "Suppose Morana's work will take all night?"</p>
<p>"It's possible," Lenore lilts her head. "Depends on how much of a fight that hunter can put up."</p>
<p>Realization courses through her again; that is certainly important work, more than worth getting out of bed over. Thinking it over again, perhaps Striga is now less concerned that she had left, and more concerned that she hadn't thought to wake her, perhaps kiss her goodbye. Her heart clutches again, suddenly all too aware of what she feels she had missed out on. Had been denied. And then there's the feeling of something like emptiness -not in her hands like she is accustomed, but in her <em>being</em>.</p>
<p>"She's sure to retire after sunrise," Lenore adds, sensing the subtle but stark shift of energy between her and her sister, meaning to be reassuring. She cuts a hesitant grin. "Perhaps you could sneak into her bed and cuddle up."</p>
<p>Striga smirks, considering it, then shrugs gently. "If it was her wish, then most certainly."</p>
<p>Lenore chuckles. "She couldn't deny you if she were asleep."</p>
<p>"Then I would sooner spend the day alone, as it would surely not harm either one of us."</p>
<p>Lenore casts a particular look at Striga that her sister doesn't see, a curious and mildly satisfied expression that is there and gone again.</p>
<p>The conversation starts and stops, the topics changing with no real pattern or purpose. Lenore senses Striga trying to probe her throughout their visit, amused at her multiple subtle but unsuccessful attempts to try and pry loose more information about her origins, which Lenore is keen to dissuade or avoid altogether. She thinks, with some practice, Striga could be a rather capable negotiator in her own right. Shrewd and persistent, unyielding in a hazardous way, but all are qualities that are workable under the right circumstances. Lenore would consider herself lucky indeed if she was ever given the opportunity to watch her work.</p>
<p>All in all, Striga finds her time with Lenore surprisingly pleasant. Between here and the archive she had ample time to formulate a number of assumptions, but only saw a scant few of them manifest. She may never be able to fully trust her or the red of her eyes, but she couldn't ignore a budding kinship forming, just as she couldn't ignore the fact that her growing fondness for Lenore's pets was making that happen more easily than it probably should.</p>
<p>They easily lose track of the hours -not that there had been many left in the night, considering when Striga finally rose from her bed- and would have easily tossed away more if not for the soft knocking at Lenore's door. Bartholomew finally sees fit to leave his spot across Striga's chest as she turns and watches the human attendant enter the room, making a quiet but quick path towards her. She nods at his swift and smoothly delivered message -"The Lady Morana requests your presence in her chambers"- and subsequently dismisses him as she stands up. She takes a moment to stretch before pushing her chair in.</p>
<p>Lenore just smiles, her hands busy with Bartholomew as he had bounced across the table to her. "It's been a delightful visit, general, we must do it again some time."</p>
<p>"Indeed, and you have my utmost gratitude for being such a fine hostess." Striga nods to her. "And you may use my given name, if it suits you."</p>
<p>"It certainly does." Her crimson eyes shimmer with something genuine. "And, by the same token, you can consider my door to always be open to you, even if it's just to play with Barty."</p>
<p>"<em>Baby boy</em>!" the raven screeches.</p>
<p>Striga smiles. "Many thanks. I must admit," she pauses, carefully choosing her words, "I had partly expected you to threaten me."</p>
<p>Of all things, Lenore laughs, enough to startle the raven trying to climb up to her shoulder. "About what?"</p>
<p>"Morana, if I ever did her any harm,"</p>
<p>"Ah, I see." Lenore holds onto her toothy smile and lilts her head. "It had certainly crossed my mind, but you have more than convinced me that it wasn't necessary. To be honest, I've never really harbored any doubts about you, including your intentions regarding Morana."</p>
<p>Striga's brows rise briefly. "I'm flattered by your trust."</p>
<p>"Don't be." she says comfortably, partly distracted by Bartholomew that is now hovering inches from her face. "Rest assured that I still expected you to earn it, and you have. I dare say I don't think Morana could be in better hands," her eyes narrow and her rosy brows waggle at her sister, "and I have a sinking suspicion that she would agree with me."</p>
<p>Striga breaks eye contact abruptly, for only a second, but it's enough of a tell to have her little sister smiling impossibly wider, impossibly more smug.</p>
<p>"Have a pleasant night, Striga, what little is left of it." Lenore gives her the dismissal she feels Striga is looking for, and isn't the slightest bit surprised or offended when she takes it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Striga won't deny that she was glad to leave, but not nearly as glad as she is to be on her way to Morana. She is much too fixated on her destination to realize just how quickly her steps carry her there, or to notice the powerful pulse nestling in her veins by the time she arrives. Naturally, she knocks before entering, cringing at herself thinking that the action is much too quick, too telling of her eagerness, but decides to leave it in the hallway when she steps inside.</p>
<p>The shades are all drawn closed and Morana in already in her nightgown, her hands busy with the ribbon in the process of tying her hair in the usual way. Her bright blue eyes flit up and out of whatever she must have been thinking, and she reflexively smiles, just as her pupils reflexively flux at the sight of Striga crossing the room. And it thrills her endlessly to see Striga smiling back at her. With the ribbon in place she moves to meet Striga, arms open in the hopes that her sister will understand her intent. To her pleasant surprise, Striga mimics her position and gathers her up in her arms, pressing Morana soundly against the barrel of her chest, even lifting her off the floor.</p>
<p>Morana allows her lungs to empty, relishing in the pressure for a moment. "Did you miss me so much?" she rasps against Striga's shoulders.</p>
<p>Striga responds with a positive sounding hum. It both is and isn't an answer, but it is an answer she feels confident in giving and in Morana understanding. Her emotions are crowding a little and she isn't so sure of her ability to speak yet.</p>
<p>She carefully sets Morana down and loosens her hold enough that she might look down at her, feeling that lingering emptiness being soothed the longer they hold one another's gaze. She feels Morana's hands working between them, eventually reaching up to gently cup her face. She understands, briefly leaning into her palms before tucking her chin and lowering her lips to press to Morana's. It isn't hungry, <em>begging</em>, but soft, almost chaste, but Striga can feel it radiating in her bones, threatening to make her melt.</p>
<p>When they part, both of them need a moment to smile and sheepishly laugh and catch their breath -as useless as that last endeavor is.</p>
<p>Morana smooths her hands along Striga's neck and shoulders to perch on her chest. "I missed you too."</p>
<p>Striga smiles at her, admires her a moment. "Was your work successful?" Because a part of her would prefer if their separation had, at least, yielded results to make it worth the while.</p>
<p>"We shall see." Morana sighs, smiling back before motioning away from Striga's embrace. She doesn't go far at all before taking two of Striga's fingers in her hand, pulling her along. "I already have agents working to confirm what the hunter told me, so we should know in a few days if he was being truthful."</p>
<p>Striga nods silently, not realizing Morana was unaware of the gesture. "Is he still alive?"</p>
<p>"At the moment." Morana answers casually. "Would you prefer to be the one who kills him?"</p>
<p>"Hmm," she thinks a moment, breaking from the notion for a second when she realizes Morana is pulling her towards the bed. "I can't help but sense your desire to do it."</p>
<p>"You're not wrong." Morana laughs softly, mostly to herself. "I'm afraid this particular matter is rather...personal for me."</p>
<p>"Then far be it for me to stand between my good lady and her satisfaction."</p>
<p>Morana turns towards her again, smiling fully with dimples on full display, now walking backwards as she takes Striga's hand more tightly and with both hands. "Stay here today? Please?"</p>
<p>Striga feels her heart clutch at the softness in the request. "As you wish." And she swears her knees threaten to buckle at the happy giggle her answer receives. "Though, I have to ask, do you merely wish to sleep or,"</p>
<p>"At present, yes." Morana's smile has now morphed into something tired, and there is the slightest bit of redness to her cheeks. "Interrogations are uniquely draining, and I simply wish to sleep and be held. If you are agreeable to that."</p>
<p>"Indeed I am."</p>
<p>"Would you like something to wear to bed?"</p>
<p>"Not particularly." Striga just tolerates Morana releasing her hand, insufficiently substituting the lost contact by rubbing her fingertips together as she watches Morana turning down the bed. "Do you wish for me to wear something to bed?"</p>
<p>Morana smirks without looking at her. "Not particularly." She doesn't see Striga grinning in turn. "Though I do have a request."</p>
<p>"Hmm?"</p>
<p>Morana straightens and approaches her again, taking up both of her big hands this time. "May I undress you?"</p>
<p>One raven brow peaks. "I thought you wished to sleep."</p>
<p>"And I do. This isn't meant as a seduction, I simply wish to see you." and the admission is painfully candid, vulnerable, and Striga can feel it softening her further.</p>
<p>How the hell was she supposed to say no to her?</p>
<p>"Very well. Though, if it is of no difference to you, I will be taking my boots off myself."</p>
<p>"Of course. Just tuck them under the bed."</p>
<p>And as Striga bends down, taking the heel of her boot in one hand to start pulling, she feels the touches of an anxious anticipation. Though it isn't as unsettling as she thinks it should be. Perhaps excitement is a better word for it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Author's Note:</span>
  <span> This chapter felt a little weird, sometimes it's like that when my stories reach a significant change in certain dynamics. It'll even out, I'm sure. Anyway, next chapter is picking up immediately from where this one leaves off, so be ready for some soft, intimate, super gay shit. And after that, depending on how it goes, the next couple chapters will likely be broken up into moments, just highlights of how Striga an Morana's relationship grows up until the new year formal event. As for what comes after that, well, we'll see. It'll be good, though, I promise. Thanks everyone!</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Chapter Twenty-Three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Striga's pulse has only grown since her arrival in Morana's chambers, and the audible, rapid <em>thump-thump</em> in her ears is unavoidable evidence of it. Standing there at the foot of Morana's bed, boots now tucked out of sight, she swallows at the thickness in her throat when her good lady approaches with vivid expectation in her blue eyes. Morana takes her hands again, briefly silent as she seems to weigh them in her grip.</p><p>"If you are not comfortable with this, please say so."</p><p>Striga blinks down at her, visibly curious. "You have seen me naked before."</p><p>"But that does not mean I am entitled to it, even now. You are always free to say no."</p><p>"That is good to know." Her curiosity turns into a mild, pleasant surprise, and she nods. "And the courtesy is mutual."</p><p>"Not so much a courtesy as a standard, but thank you." Morana smiles up at her before pulling on Striga's hands, drawing her back in as she rises to the balls of her feet for a kiss. She makes it a little more heated than the last one, earning a low, curt groan from Striga that part of her wants to chase.</p><p>Striga's belly flutters beneath her clothes when she feels Morana's hands at her belt, deft fingers working the buckle apart. Then there's the jingle of brass and a subtle loosening about her middle, Striga's big hands flexing around nothing at her sides as Morana takes the hem of her tunic and starts pulling upward. When her good lady cannot reach any higher, Striga takes it upon herself to pull her tunic off, giving Morana the littlest amused smirk. But Morana doesn't appear concerned for their difference in height at present, she is certainly more fixated on taking in even this much of Striga's bare body.</p><p>Her pale, almost silvery skin alone was a sight to behold, but combine that with the fine sculpting of her ample, powerful musculature and stature, one could almost call it heavenly. Broad, squared shoulders with long, powerful arms, a fine grain of coal black hair from elbow to wrist, and hands that she has dreamed of more than once -has had the digits curling inside of her.</p><p>"I was...dismayed to find you absent when I woke this evening." Striga admits with a hint of reluctance, unsure as to why it was so difficult to say.</p><p>"I <em>am</em> sorry," Morana laments softly, not meeting Striga's eyes. "Any other matter I could and would have easily dismissed,"</p><p>"I have no doubt; affairs of state must come before...affairs of state." Striga smirks mostly to herself, adding the smallest suggestive lilt to the last few words.</p><p>Morana laughs in a way that belies a certain surprise, like she hadn't been at all prepared for the joke. She composes herself, still smiling. "I was sure to kiss you goodbye, however."</p><p>"Hmm, good." and the comfort she feels is surprisingly real, enough to disarm her and quiet whatever she might have thought to say next. Probably for the better, as it had been a little worry that threatened to find words, to expose her earlier insecurity. <em>I don't need Morana's assurance over every little thing, do I?</em></p><p>No. But she would have liked it, she thinks.</p><p>Still without looking up, her hands now hovering between them, Morana asks "May I touch you?"</p><p>"If it pleases you." Striga exhales neutrally. Then she's smiling again at the feeling of Morana's hands in her hair, curling behind the long angles of her ears before smoothing along her neck to her collarbones. She dips her chin, wishing to watch Morana's close appraisal of her, unsure if it's simply out of curiosity or...the dull warmth building in her chest suggests the presence of something else.</p><p>Morana's hands follow the furrow along the center of Striga's chest, pausing over her sternum where the furrow deepens around pectoral musculature, her fingertips lingering there. Striga's breasts are full, the nipples a pale gray-pink much like her lips, and Morana cannot ignore the stirring hunger or the reflexive way she wets her own lips with a quick pass of her tongue. She tries not to dwell on them for very long, as she <em>is</em> actually rather tired and <em>wants</em> to <em>sleep</em>. So her hands slide lower, across one big ridge of muscle where Striga's ribs end and her stout trunk begins. Even at rest Morana can make out most of her abdominal muscles, her fingers tracing the path of her admiring eyes until one talon dips into the pit of her navel, making Striga jump a little.</p><p>"Sorry." Morana apologizes softly, smiling hard enough to reveal both dimples and fangs. "Are you really so ticklish?"</p><p>"I am not ticklish." Striga protests with an edged playfulness.</p><p>"Are you sure? It's nothing to be ashamed of-,"</p><p>"<em>Woman</em>," now it's a playful warning, one that both heats Morana's blood and snatches the words right out of her mouth, though Striga doesn't know it.</p><p>Morana just laughs again and continues, briefly fixated on the crosshatching of more dark hair around her navel, knowing it probably leads lower. She finds it soft and silken beneath the pads of her thumbs. Then her talons are working on the bit of leather keeping Striga's skirt snug about her waist, meaning to loosen it. She watches as the fabric tumbles into a pool on the floor. Her legs are long and toned, a faint dusting of more black hair all the way to the ankles.</p><p>"I must admit, I was disappointed to not have the chance to properly admire you last night." Morana sighs, her hands still on Striga, now resting on the cut of her hips. "You have a beautiful body."</p><p>Striga makes a sound much like a purr, eyes closed as she savors the compliment like a mouthful of fresh blood. "Suppose I was much too focused on you."</p><p>"I could tell." Morana chuckles. She's stepping around now, wanting to see what else she had so ceremoniously unwrapped. "Not that the attention is unappreciated, but I was hoping it would have been a more...mutual endeavor."</p><p>"I-," Striga's jaw snaps shut at the feeling of Morana's hands against her back, gently dragging downward and following the dip of her spine to where it ends. "You did not leave me wanting, my lady. I promise."</p><p>"Yet all I seem to remember doing was ordering you around and clawing you to pieces." Morana's laugh is unsteady, laced with a touch of guilt.</p><p>"I am still whole," Striga assures with an almost audible grin, "and, as a career soldier, I am very accustomed to following orders."</p><p>Behind her, Morana's brow knits. "You are more than a soldier to me. So much more."</p><p>The softness in Morana's words threaten to buckle Striga at the knees. She feels her legs actually shudder when Morana steps up behind her, wrapping her arms about her waist and pressing a lingering kiss between the hard planes of her shoulder blades, against the inky tresses of her hair.</p><p>Then the vulnerability becomes too much, and Striga clears her throat. "To bed then?"</p><p>"Yes." Morana exhales, perhaps sensing the same thing and not wishing to be a bother by pressing. She expects to walk to her bed, but isn't quick enough to fully comprehend Striga's fast movements as the larger vampire whips around and gathers her up in those powerful arms. There's just a little sound of surprise and a startled smile and acceptance, one hand slipping into Striga's hair, encouraging her into a kiss as she moves.</p><p>Their lips are still fast together as Morana feels herself settling against the mattress, and she only pulls away once Striga's arms slip from around her. Then she is quick to move over, making space for Striga to lie down beside her. They smile at each other, wordless and content, though Morana senses a little uncertainty from her lover. She doesn't ask right away, thinking that, if given a moment, it might resolve itself, which it does. Striga visibly relaxes when she lays against the big, fat pillows and helps Morana pull the covers up around them.</p><p>Morana still feels the need to wait for Striga to offer her a place at her side, even if this is her own bed, because as she had said earlier, she didn't feel entitled to anything. Though she is more than happy to oblige when Striga holds out her arm, draping it around Morana when she settles. For a long while they simply lie there, silently enjoying one another's presence, hands joining gently atop Striga's belly. Striga draws circles across Morana's fingers with the pad of her thumb, and Morana relishes in the gentle friction that feeds and soothes something insatiable in the core of her. She feels a gentle, lingering kiss pressed against her hair and the quiet drawing of air as Striga takes her scent in.</p><p>Striga rumbles, a satisfied vibration that radiates through them. "We should talk." she says quietly.</p><p>Morana takes a breath, settling closer somehow, and exhales "What about?"</p><p>"Last night." and the answer is neutral, untroubled, a simple statement. "At least...I feel we should." However that was a little unsteady, nervous sounding.</p><p>"I agree." Morana can hear the brief, faint thrum of Striga's heart, several beats that are there and gone again but are enough to telegraph what she feels. It makes Morana feel less guilty about her own little anxiety. "Perhaps it can wait until tomorrow night? So we might look at the matter with fresh minds?"</p><p>Striga takes a moment to think, her focus split between the suggestion and the softness of Morana's skin beneath her hands. "Suppose it could."</p><p>"Unless there is something that cannot wait. I will listen."</p><p>"It's all right, you make a fair point. Another day to sleep on it is not likely to cause any harm."</p><p>"So long as you are certain."</p><p>"I am."</p><p>Morana accepts it, but that doesn't still the small part of her that's itching to hear what Striga is thinking. Is Striga afraid of saying something Morana might not want to hear? Has Striga suddenly realized she doesn't feel the same as Morana does? Morana swallows against the thickness in her throat, steeling herself as her hand grips Striga's a little tighter, and tries to quiet her mind. It's not so easy to do, to be truthful. Then again, with her mind, it never has been, yet this is somehow harder...somehow worse.</p><p>But, even as the conversation dies and the whitewashing light of sunrise starts inching beneath the hems of the drapes, Striga pets her and kisses her hair, her knuckles, the time between kisses steadily stretching further and further until both of them have slipped into slumber. They lay together unmoving for hours at a time; when either of them does move, the other is soon to chase after. Morana rolls away from Striga's side, only for Striga to unconsciously reach out to find her, rumbling wordlessly as she turns and gathers her good lady back against her body, one arm winding beneath the pillows to join the other across Morana's chest. The rest of the day they spend slotted tightly together, like pages in a book.</p><p> </p><p>Morana awakens to the gentle brush of tepid breath against the back of her neck, hazily curious if Striga is awake as well. Not all vampires stop breathing in their sleep, and she hasn't shared a bed with Striga long enough to know which is the rule and which the exception. In the end, however, it doesn't much matter because she doesn't make to move or acknowledge it, refusing to do anything that might disturb this wonderful comfort she has found herself in. It's a dream come true.</p><p>Then that big body behind her shifts, Striga's chest expanding with a deep breath as the rest of her tension stretches. Morana feels herself smiling fully, silently delighted as Striga's powerful limbs tuck tighter, pull her closer and <em>squeeze</em>. A cinched little sigh escapes her body and her heart sings, then she feels a dull hum from behind her, followed by a lingering, almost lazy kiss to the back of her neck, and Morana swears she could fly.</p><p>When the tension eases, Striga's grip around Morana does not. The smaller vampire is still well pressed to her chest, thick arms crossed around her, legs tucked up behind Morana's and nearly pushing them to her chest. Striga's still sleep-clouded mind can only contemplate the scent of jasmine and a need to hold Morana close, to surround her, to <em>keep her</em>.</p><p>But the realization that she has never felt that way before -for anyone or anything- jars her to full consciousness.</p><p>Her clearing vision is greeted by waxing and waning shades of gray, the desaturated darkness of Morana's hair against the pallor of linen in the lightless room. Her gaze inches down, settles on the exposed bend of where her neck and shoulder meet, and swallows at the dryness in her mouth and throat. She dips her head and kisses there, following the tugging hunger she can feel in her fangs to drag them gently over the supple skin.</p><p>"Hmm...awake?" Morana's voice rasps out of the stillness, soft and breathy.</p><p>Striga hums against her shoulder, drawing Morana's scent in again as her lips close around the miniscule marks her teeth had left behind. The soft, wet pop of separation drew her awareness, her senses a little higher, like a ripple across otherwise still waters.</p><p>Morana's hands find and grip Striga's forearm, unconsciously anchoring herself as gooseflesh surges across her body. She turns her head, finds Striga's hand at her shoulder and kisses what feels like the hard bend of her first knuckle. "I will arrange for food, then we can talk."</p><p>Striga feels Morana shifting in her arms, meaning to rise, and tenses to pull her right back down. "Stay."</p><p>Something in Morana reflexively obeys, going still like a prey animal yet feeling no fear. Her pulse erupts, filling her cheeks with blood. When that dizzying sensation passes, she makes her mouth work to form words. "We won't accomplish anything staying in bed."</p><p>"Perhaps we should try." the suggestion is deceptively nonchalant.</p><p>Morana can feel Striga smiling against her skin, unconsciously squirming in her arms, mentally caught between refusal and acceptance, between drawing away and nestling somehow deeper into this powerful embrace.</p><p>"I know there is much to discuss," Striga continues softly, lips just touching Morana's skin, hovering. "However, presently, I find myself needing to explore a theory of mine. More so...to discover the answer to a question that cannot be obtained by talking." She takes a little skin between her front teeth, letting it gently pull free as she draws her head back and letting her senses key resolutely onto the curt hiss from Morana. "But I promise we will talk in time."</p><p>"I trust you." Morana breathes, her hands tightening around Striga's arm. "Might I be of any assistance?"</p><p>"Grant me permission to touch you."</p><p>Morana chuckles, a rich and warm sound. "You're already touching me."</p><p>"Not the way I <em>wish </em>to be," Striga whispers, but it's more than enough for Morana to hear and to feel the weight of it.</p><p>"I see. Then consider my permission granted." And she loves that Striga doesn't make her wait.</p><p>Striga's hold around her shifts and tightens, one powerful arm remaining strapped across Morana's chest, while the other drops so that big hand can eclipse the outermost bend of Morana's hip. Thick fingers hook and tug in unsteady increments at Morana's nightgown, mimicking her pulse, Striga perhaps unconsciously testing the waters and waiting for Morana to rescind consent. It never comes, in fact Morana makes breathy, staggering sounds that are much more encouraging than warding.</p><p>Striga's mind has been alight with numerous notions since the night before, and all of them circled Morana somehow. However, at present, as she pulls Morana's gown higher, her body soaking up the gentle vibrations of Morana's contented mewling, she is able to focus on one thought in particular; where is the hunger coming from?</p><p>Because it is certainly there, a desire for Morana that Striga has never experienced before, but somehow recognized the presence of when she woke moments ago. It is unmistakably carnal, a gut-deep, near ravenous and gnawing need for her good lady's scent, her sounds, her flesh, and Striga can't begin to fathom its origins because it is so unfamiliar. So she wonders; is it simply the novelty? Is this desire, this <em>attraction</em> real, or is it nothing more than curiosity? Did it matter?</p><p><em>Yes.</em> That is the only thing Striga is unshakably certain of; because Morana deserves much more, much better than passing curiosity, and she is far more precious than a simple novelty.</p><p>This is what Striga is searching for, burrowing beneath Morana's gown and digging into her skin with blunt nails and carving away mouthfuls at a time in order to uncover this hunger's source. And the fact that Morana simply lays there and <em>allows it</em> is humbling.</p><p>Striga palms Morana's bare thigh, the smaller woman tensing with a strained whine. Morana's spine bends as best it can, her chest pressing outward, her backside grinding against the solid body behind her, making those strong fingers clutch at her skin with a renewed tenacity. Striga takes a moment to appreciate the shape and supple softness, her calloused hand smoothing along the length of Morana's leg, up and down with an appreciative sort of laziness. Then she drags her hand higher, slipping beneath the now bunched up length of Morana's nightgown to fan her fingers across nearly the entirety of Morana's fluttering belly. She can feel Morana's pulse beneath her hand, thundering through the major artery there.</p><p>The volume of Striga's breath in her ear steadily climbs, draws closer, and she shudders hard at the closure of lips around the edge of her ear just below the signet ring piercing. Then Striga rumbles and Morana feels a snap of static that puts all the small hairs across her body on end.</p><p>"I love holding you." Striga sighs quietly. Her head dips and she kisses Morana's shoulder again. "But I think I'm coming to love the way you taste as well."</p><p>Morana shudders, and if she had been in her right mind, she would have been thoroughly embarrassed at the open-mouthed moan that comes shaking out of her. Behind her, Striga's face is turned with surprise, brows up and eyes wide with intrigue and her mouth slanted with a sickle of a smirk. Then that surprise turns into something wicked and curious. "You like the sound of that?" Striga can't help but laugh when something comes spilling from her lady's mouth in Arabic. "Latin, please,"</p><p>Striga feels Morana's belly dip hard as she exhales. "<em>Yes</em>,"</p><p>"That had seemed a great deal more than just <em>yes</em>." Striga nuzzles closer, slipping her grin across Morana's shoulder and along the column of her throat. "Is there a new lesson you want to teach me?"</p><p>Oh <em>god</em>, does she. Morana doesn't fully understand why her hunger is so much more potent now, why it feels more raw and primal as opposed to the night before; perhaps her still waking mind is more sensitive to attention, more open. Or maybe there's something about receiving this attention without having asked. Morana is feeling <em>desired</em>, <em>sought after</em>, Striga is showing that she wants her, and that is proving to have a tremendous affect.</p><p>Morana tries and fails to twist in Striga's embrace, meaning to face her lover, but is held in place. "Kiss me," she pleas, her throat tight. Then she feels Striga's hand lifting from her belly and moving to line her jaw, turning her head with only a little force in order to fulfill her wish. She tries to turn again and that arm across her chest flexes, her bones rattling with an insistent growl.</p><p>When Striga pulls away she lingers there, lips hovering close enough to feel Morana's panting breaths. "Stay." she says again, nipping Morana's bottom lip and smirking at the little yelp she receives. As she rises from the bed she catches a glimpse of eye shine, smirking at the look her good lady is casting her as she's half upright in the bed -one of frustration laced bewilderment, as if to say <em>how dare you</em> because her mouth likely can't form the words at present. Striga just smiles to herself and continues with what she means to do as she strides casually from the bed.</p><p>In the next moment, the lightning glass flickers to life, Morana blinking at the unexpected stimulus. When her eyes focus again she's watching Striga returning to the bed, a little swagger in her step and that smirk still turning her lips.</p><p>"Was that really necessary?"</p><p>"I want to see you properly." Striga admits plainly, pushing the blankets aside. "Does even such brief truancy wound you so?"</p><p>"You know the answer to that." Morana seems to pout, but it's obvious she is trying not to let it show. It's still in the natural rasp of her voice, though.</p><p>"But I want to hear you say it." It's an intimate thought that became words before Striga could stop them, but she's quick to realize that she doesn't feel so guilty about their manifestation. "I like knowing you miss me."</p><p>Morana finds more comfort in her vulnerability then, confident that it won't be scoffed at. Not that Striga would ever dismiss her feelings, certainly not to her face nor at a time like this. She gives herself the time it takes for Striga to lie back down, to curl up behind her again before speaking. "I grieve your absence, be it in short or at length. Always." And the smile Striga gives her, the abject softness of it, stole her breath.</p><p>Striga's smile widens as she draws in closer, her lips near Morana's ear again. "Then allow me to comfort you." And though her tone is genuine and almost innocent, her hand belies her intent. One finger hooks the perilously thin strap of Morana's nightgown, lifting it in silent suggestion. "May I?"</p><p>Morana turns her head, a heated "<em>yes</em>" wafting against Striga's lips before she catches them with her own. She shivers at the barely there brush of Striga's hand against her shoulder, her upper arm as she pulls the strap down. Thoughtlessly, Morana shimmies her shoulders in assistance, eager to help but not for their lips to come undone. She pulls her arms free of the sleeves without prompting, earning the smallest laugh from Striga, and when Morana tries to put her arms around that powerful neck, Striga's hand fans across the middle of her chest and pushes her down. It isn't forceful, but Morana's quick to acknowledge that it didn't have to be -and Striga knew it too.</p><p>Striga moves over Morana now that she's on her back, propping up on one elbow, mindfully holding her gaze and waiting for any change as she pulls the top of her nightgown further...further...further down until the only logical thing to do is pull it off completely. Morana never stops her, in fact Striga watches in silent wonder as her pitch pupils steadily fatten with interest while she tugs the garment down her beautiful legs until it's free of them, setting it down on the foot of the bed. She can almost hear the snap of separation when she breaks eye contact, unable to resist taking in Morana's body, admiring it. Just as beautiful now as it was the other night, not that she expected any less, but it was one of those many curiosities that had been flickering through her mind lately. It's all part of that question as to what this hunger is and where it comes from. If it will last.</p><p>"You are so god damn stunning." Striga sighs roughly, one hand drifting near Morana's belly before touching down and smoothing over it. "So soft."</p><p>The sound Morana makes in response is something between a gasp and a giggle. She's feeling flattered and aroused and it's an unusual combination in the moment.</p><p>"However, as much as I am learning to love how you feel, how you look," those green eyes flit up to meet Morana's, bright and intense, "I believe my hunger is decidedly in my mouth this evening."</p><p>Morana blinks back at her, her face unreadable and her lungs having stilled. She knows what that might mean, if the suggestion in her lover's tone was anything to go by, and part of Morana <em>prays</em> she isn't reading something that isn't actually there. She desperately wants Striga to mean exactly what Morana thinks she means.</p><p>Then she feels a playful twist in herself, perhaps reflecting her lover's temperament. "Why do you think I suggested food?"</p><p>Striga chuffs and lilts her head, her hand moving across Morana's belly to rest on her hip. "My lady, not a single delicacy from across the whole world, nor any number of bared throats will be able to sate me. Not while I'm with you." She's endlessly amused -and admittedly a little self-sastified- when Morana's mouth drops open, wordless for the moment.</p><p>What could she possibly say to that anyway?</p><p>A million things, though none of them feel right just yet.</p><p>Instead Morana reaches out with both hands and takes hold of Striga's face, desperation lacing the temerity of her grip as she roughly pulls Striga in for a searing kiss, the larger vampire shifting to catch her greater weight with both hands as she settles squarely above Morana. Striga's sable mane tumbles around them as she groans in appreciation, a shiver rattling down her spine at the slick insistence of Morana's tongue. Her body arches beneath Striga, spine bending sharply upward to reach more skin. A fractured whimper shudders between them as one of Striga's powerful thighs settles between Morana's legs; now Morana's legs are mimicking her spine and bending to increase the contact between them. She grinds slowly but mindlessly against Striga's thigh, the motion made easy with the ample slick already gathering at her center.</p><p>Striga's heart pounds and she draws quicker breaths, only faintly aware of how their pulses are synching again because of her fixation on the steady, advancing inches of Morana's cinching thighs around her own. Before she can decided if she likes how that feels, her nerves come alive with an altogether new sensation as Morana's thigh comes up between her own. Her body tenses and jerks with a curt grunt, their desperate kiss severed with a loud pop.</p><p>Morana freezes after releasing her and drops all four limbs back to the bed, her face full of puzzled concern. "Is something wrong?"</p><p>For a moment Striga simply pants above her, brow furrowed, her entire face the reddest Morana has ever seen. "<em>Fuck</em>," emerges in Slavic, followed by a hard swallow. "I-I'm sorry. I wasn't ready."</p><p>"Did I hurt you?"</p><p>"N-no." there's a lilt of uncertainty, and then Striga physically shakes her head as if to drive the answer home. "I...I don't know what..." the words stop but her jaws keeps working, and then she starts shaking her head again and shuts her eyes.</p><p>"Should we stop?"</p><p>It takes a moment and a deep breath, but Striga eventually calms again. "No. Suppose you just surprised me." She opens her eyes and looks down at Morana, her pupils blown wide but her overall expression carrying a certain serenity. "I'm all right."</p><p>"You're sure?"</p><p>"I am." Striga nods once, feeling her heart soften under the genuine care in Morana's face. Care for <em>her</em>. "But, mayhaps it's better that you refrain from touching me like that for now."</p><p>That care flickers with something like hurt, there and gone again and somewhat missable. "But," it's a timid little noise.</p><p>"It's all right." Striga lowers herself, touching her forehead to Morana's, like the tips of their noses. She's smiling, hoping it's enough reassurance. "We will discuss it after."</p><p>Part of Morana wants to argue, to press it <em>now</em>, but another part is feeling monumentally selfish. That aside, she knows she should trust Striga; surely Striga knows her own body best, and Morana should concede to that, which she does with a reluctant nod and a breath.</p><p>"Just be sure to leave me with enough of my wits to speak afterward." she has to force a little smile, which comes to feel more genuine with Striga's velvety chuckle in response. It cuts the tension with surprising ease, the discomfort all but vanishing as Striga kisses her again, then it is forgotten entirely as Morana gasps at the returning friction of Striga's thigh between her legs.</p><p>Striga doubles her efforts, not just to return Morana's focus to the matter at hand, but her own. Her reaction to such intimate touch is...troubling to say the least, and she hasn't the slightest inkling as to what to do about it, so she does her best to simply forget it for later, to push it down until she feels the little anxious tremors in her body steady.</p><p>Striga distracts herself with Morana, with the still present hunger for her, and lunges for her lady's throat with an open mouth. The tips of her fangs leave little welts in ribbons along the corded muscle, from jaw to collar bone, where Striga closes her lips and draws the skin hard and tight into her mouth. Morana hisses at the pinching pain, a little yelp when it peaks, and then Striga's lips pop free and she takes a moment to admire the little bruise in the seconds before it mends.</p><p>"Do that again," Morana whines. "Where I can see it."</p><p>One sable brow peaks, Striga's gaze set curiously as she looks up at her. Holding her eyes Striga inches lower, taking another mouthful just above Morana's breast and repeating the pull and pressure. Morana tenses under her again, Striga watching as her bright blue eyes threaten to roll back when the pain crests once more. Then those eyes are focused again, briefly on Striga before they drop to the splotch of purple that's nestled neatly between a pair of moles.</p><p>"You mark me so beautifully." Morana pants, catching sight of the way Striga's pupils flux at the compliment. What that she were still living so the bruises would last, allowing Striga to adorn her in thulite blossoms across her body, lingering proof of Striga's affection. She would have liked to entertain the idea a little further, but Striga eagerly takes a nipple between her lips and Morana's ability to think promptly and completely collapses around the sparks arcing deliciously across her nerves.</p><p>Striga is feeling much more confident now, more comfortable with Morana's talons furrowing through her hair and against her scalp. She loves the taste of her skin, unsure of how to describe it but still certain that it is indeed wonderful, and finds herself both sated and driven by it. Morana's hands remain anchored where they are as Striga works steadily lower, over her fluttering belly where she chances to leave a fresh bruise to her lady's delighted cry. She dips passed Morana's navel and those fingers hook in her hair, just shy of pulling. Striga lifts her head, ready to stop on the chance she has crossed some boundary, but only finds wide-eyed and rapt attention staring back.</p><p>"Is this all right?" Striga asks anyway, feeling she should.</p><p>"<em>Yes</em>," Morana breathes, her chest rising and falling in a steady but powerful rhythm.</p><p>"Good." Striga smirks. She then kisses the little bump of softness below Morana's belly button. "Though I would ask that you be patient with me, I've never done this before." In truth, the only reason Striga knows it's even done at all is because Welsh was an exceptionally liberal-speaking drunk and loved to brag about her exploits.</p><p>Morana simply nods, and Striga takes it as a sign to continue.</p><p>Broad shoulders push Morana's thighs apart, Striga grinning as she settles there with Morana's heels pressing gently against her shoulder blades. She casts her good lady a little smirk, keeping eye contact to see her writhe when Striga nuzzles and kisses the inside of her thigh. There are more beauty marks here, small and patternless like a starry sky, and Striga makes an effort to try and kiss all the ones she sees.</p><p>Morana makes a feverish, strangled noise as she watches, her heart clenching in a way it never has before, though it is far from unpleasant. One hand releases Striga's hair, drawing towards her own mouth to catch the thickness of her index finger between her teeth as if it would do anything to stifle the next raspy moan that Striga shakes from her, this time from the tortuously slow dragging of Striga's fangs along the thick tendon in her thigh towards her center. Then Striga is looking up at her again, green eyes seeming to ask permission once more, which Morana readily gives with a nod and a whimper. One of those big, pale hands grips one thigh, holding it in place as the other fans across her belly and pushes upward, pushing her other leg down and keeping it there as Striga palms one of her breasts. Her one hand flexes hard in Striga's hair, talons surely close to drawing blood, but Striga only seems to purr at the little threat.</p><p>The pain helps ground her focus, as Striga nearly lost herself in the anxiety of facing something new. She feels the margin for error is perilously thin, and the last thing she wants is to disappoint Morana over a lack of experience. But the edges against her scalp help, yes, help her keep in mind that there is no hurry, no pressure, no judgment. Surely Morana would have dissuaded her by now if she didn't have any faith in Striga's ability to please her, and the idea of her unspoken trust has goosebumps rising on Striga's skin.</p><p>Now Striga is focusing wholly on Morana, more so on the pretty, glistening pale pink petals of her folds, on her good lady's scent and the heat that has gathered in her body. Striga feels herself salivating, and that only seems to spur her on, encouraging Striga to dip her head and take the first of many mouthfuls. It's languid, testing, <em>tasting</em>, and it has Morana writhing helplessly around her, thighs trying to press together, trembling, and talons finally breaking skin. Striga doesn't mind or much react, again, the pain is steadying. She continues, keeping a slow and steady pace, as if Morana is as still as a statue and not beginning to buck her hips against Striga's gentle mouth.</p><p>Morana smells the blood though it's but a drop, and reflexively chases it. She pulls the finger from between her teeth to grab Striga's hand at her breast and hold it in a vice-like grip, making room for her other hand to rise to her mouth where Morana draws her talons across her own tongue. Dull, cool copper sparks her senses and threatens to make her head spin. Then Striga's lips close around her clit and draw gently, but it's more than enough to wash Morana's mind white.</p><p>"<em>Striga</em>!" her body arches, tensing all over as she presses back into the pillows, her hands closing unconsciously, her talons biting into her own palm and drawing blood once again. "<em>My god</em>!"</p><p>Surely that meant she must be doing something right, if not, Morana was free to say so if she could manage as much. Striga forges on, chancing to test greater pressure and speed behind her lips and tongue, grinning against Morana's folds at her reactions. At this rate she will be coming undone rather quickly, and what a sight that would be.</p><p>"I-inside, I beg you," Morana pants. "<em>Please</em>, I need you,"</p><p>Striga's brow furrows at the dull pain in her hand, Morana's grip having tightened around it beyond what she will tolerate. She jerks it free, tucking it beneath her before adjusting her own weight to make room. She pauses long enough to watch, to listen to Morana as she slowly slips two fingers into her, without resistance and to the hilt. Morana's pleasured, wrecked cry echoes in the room, and Striga briefly worries if anyone could hear. If anyone came running, she would be quick to kick them out, until then, however, she would tend to her good lady.</p><p>Morana tries and fails to form anything resembling a coherent thought around the sensation of cracking into pieces. Her entire body is tense, shivering with heat, pulling outward in anticipation and ecstasy. Again her climax hits without her being ready, her spine pulling up, up, feeling as though it is threatening to snap in half as her core clenches hard and she cries out wordlessly. Even the pain of her talons cutting into her palm cannot tarnish this whirlwind euphoria. Coming down from it leaves her feeling raw, her skin buzzing, and her mind is nothing but a haze -a sweet, sweet, honey colored haze.</p><p>Striga slowly, gently kisses her way back up Morana's body, mindful when her belly flutters as if even something so light is too much. She smells the blood and seeks it out, spotting the dark stains on Morana's hand before taking it up in her own. She doesn't know how to describe the sound Morana makes when she swipes her tongue across her palm but, looking down at her, Striga could only call her rapt, starry expression bewitched. Striga kisses her healed, cleaned palm with a soft smirk before easing down beside her, propping her head on one fist. They take a moment of silent existence together, collecting themselves.</p><p>"Are you all right?" Striga finally asks, still grinning in a felid way.</p><p>Morana huffs, blinking slowly, one hand haphazardly flinging itself to rest against the barrel of Striga's stomach. "One night," she begins unsteadily, "one night <em>I</em> am going to be in charge, and then we shall see how smug you are."</p><p>"And I eagerly await such a night, my lady." Striga takes that hand against her belly loosely into her own. "You taste delightful, by the way."</p><p>"Vainglorious heathen."</p><p>Striga can't help but laugh, her smile all teeth and sharp amusement. "Indeed, a heathen that you have allowed to bed you <em>twice</em> now."</p><p>"You expect me to deny you?"</p><p>"No, but you are always free to." Striga leans down and kisses her cooling forehead. "Perhaps you would like your nightgown?"</p><p>"In a moment." Morana is learning to like this feeling of safe vulnerability, now that she realizes it is there. That, and she doesn't think her nerves have calmed enough to stand clothing just yet. Morana takes a deep, stabilizing breath and exhales in a measured way, feeling her head clearing just a little more. "Maybe it's better we talk."</p><p>"Hmm." Striga nods, the amusement immediately vacating her expression, leaving it neutral.</p><p>"I apologize for earlier, I didn't know-,"</p><p>"In all honesty, neither did I." Striga feels marginally guilty for cutting her off, but part of her neither wanted nor needed to hear the rest. "Seems the fact remains that I am still very new to this...even in regards to my own body."</p><p>"You certainly don't treat me like you're new to it."</p><p>A little smile and a sideways glance. "You give great direction, and I can be a fast learner when I am invested enough in the matter."</p><p>Morana feels touched, a bit of heat gathering in her face. "But you are certain that I did not hurt you?"</p><p>"I am." no hesitation. "As I said, I was unprepared and it...well,"</p><p>Morana thinks she understands, so she doesn't press for the rest. <em>She has never been touched that way.</em> And the thought brings a surging ache to Morana's slowing heart.</p><p>"It may...be some time before...I feel comfortable with that sort of touch." Striga's words stagger like a newborn foal, her face hidden when she tucks her chin. "Or if I ever will be. I am sorry." she blurts out at the end.</p><p>"There is no need for apologies, love." Morana gently lifts her hand from Striga's frail grip and strokes the hard bend of Striga's cheek, encouraging her to meet her eyes. Striga looks back at her with unbridled uncertainty, and it breaks Morana's heart in a way. "My chiefest concern is your happiness, so I won't push you beyond your comfort."</p><p>Striga covers Morana's hand with hers, and though there is still obvious doubt written on her face, she tries to smile. "Thank you. Likewise."</p><p>Morana senses that could be the end of that particular matter, so she tries to change the subject. "So what of this theory you mentioned?"</p><p>"Well," Striga lilts her head and releases Morana's hand as she starts to shift, turning onto her back to lay against the pillows and let Morana tuck to her side. There's comfort in the arrangement that Striga is more than happy to have, not caring much for the moment of the insecurity she feels she has just narrowly escaped. "Suppose it comes from the heart of the matter, to me at least. Our...relationship has changed rather suddenly, hasn't it?"</p><p>"It has." Morana agrees softly.</p><p>"Not in a negative way," Striga assures quickly, feeling the need to. "Though...I'm not entirely certain as to the nature of it. Is this sort of change normal?"</p><p>"What is normal?" there's a strain of quiet that presses Morana to continue. "These things can go any number of ways; I once met a woman who took me to bed the night we met, and then I never saw her again. Some couples dance around one another for years. Others simply have sex because they trust one another and enjoy it, not because they are necessarily in love. Everyone is different."</p><p>"And what sort are you, if I may ask? What does this mean to you?"</p><p>"Well," Morana has to stop herself from answering too quickly, to risk misrepresenting herself. "It's going to sound ridiculous," because she knows the depths of her own sentimentality over the subject, and is all but certain Striga will not understand.</p><p>"Somehow I doubt that. Still, humor me, if you can."</p><p>For the moment, Morana simply cannot hold steady to that soft, verdant gaze. "Then, to me at least...I feel as though lovemaking is one of the highest expressions of affection, giving or receiving. As I said, I've tried it casually and it wasn't nearly as fulfilling. I think a part of me actually regrets it in a way, like I wasted something of myself on someone." But that wasn't the case now, and Morana would have given her fangs to be able to tell Striga, to her face, how fulfilling her affection has been. "Could I ask the same question of you?"</p><p>Striga makes an acknowledging and also contemplative sound after a moment. "All of this is still so new to me." She shakes her head, sighing with a rounded edge of exasperation. "I suppose...I am trying to navigate all these things, these feelings I've never had before. But...I know this seems to bring you a unique happiness. It is, as you said, an expression of affection and care...and I care about you a great deal, so..."</p><p>They let those last words sit between them for a time, both weighing their potential.</p><p>Then "In any case, our bond has certainly changed, and I find myself feeling a new...fondness for you. An obligation of sorts."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"I mean," Striga visibly cringes, realizing how that must have sounded. "Like I should watch over you. Keep you safe." at least that is the best way she knows how to describe it. Morana feels <em>precious </em>to her now, yet Striga just cannot make herself say it out loud so plainly. God only knew why.</p><p>Now Morana smiles, shifting under Striga's arm to prop on her elbow and look at her. "I'm hardly defenseless."</p><p>"And I know it well." Striga nods once. "But even the right hand of a queen deserves to be held with care."</p><p>Her smile collapses and she can feel her face reddening again, her heart tightening much like it had earlier when Striga had said something jarringly sweet about worldly delicacies and bared throats. For several seconds Morana cannot take her eyes off her, so, naturally she does not miss when Striga's eyes break contact and she swallows.</p><p>"I am afraid...I am becoming rather attached to you." and the admission is far from easy. Carving open her own chest with a butter knife would have been a smoother, less revealing task. "Which...I haven't allowed myself to do in...I don't recall how long."</p><p>Morana's face lines with sympathy. "<em>Are</em> you afraid?"</p><p>"In a way." Striga still can't look at her. "Which, that on it's own is unnerving to a point. But...you know change is difficult for me, and there is a reason for that; for me, change feels unusually constant. Or maybe I'm just always bracing for it, I am uncertain. Still...since my father sent me away, nothing stays, not even <em>me</em>. Always moving, be it alone or with an army, never settling. Regarding the people in my life it is much the same. So, for my sanity's sake, I didn't...<em>wouldn't</em> get attached."</p><p>Surely it had been safer; it's something Morana can understand to an extent. When the world keeps jarring you, knocking you off balance, you have to do something to stay upright -have to stop the happiness before it turns into pain. She hates to think Striga had to close herself off so hard to come this far, to the point that even forming a friendship might seem like a risk to her. Who knows what the prospect of a courtship had made her feel, how she must have been bracing all this time. She thinks it tragic.</p><p>It takes a moment, and what Striga believes to be a <em>serious</em> effort on her own part, but she eventually adds, with no small amount of timidity, "But this is different." She watches Morana blink back at her, mildly surprised, and waits for her to say something, though she doesn't. "I...I want this, I think. I <em>want</em> to get attached." then she laughs, a pitiable sound. "Though it still terrifies me."</p><p>Morana rests her hand atop Striga's chest, hoping it is as comforting as she means it to be. "I think I understand. I have my own reservations about this, if you can believe it."</p><p>"I wouldn't have known if you hadn't said as much." Striga says frankly, because it's true. Morana had always seemed flawlessly confident, at least until her emotions became too big and she didn't know what to do with them. Still, even then, she seemed to have a far greater awareness of the matter than Striga did at the best of times.</p><p>"Because I know what I want, I know how I expect to be treated and I lead by example. Which, to your great credit, you follow superbly." Morana smiles in the seconds before it fades and her eyes drop low and away. "But I am not entirely without my doubts."</p><p>"And what are you afraid of, my lady?" no ridicule, no judgment, only genuine concern.</p><p>"Of when this will end. There have only been a few, but it always ends. They leave, and I remain."</p><p>Striga's brow furrows, the gears of her mind turning as thoughts and theories come together in new, different ways. Some matters hold greater clarity now, though it isn't necessarily something to celebrate. Now Morana's temperament the night she had left the castle for the border made more sense, as it is clear that it had been so much more than simple longing and disapproval. Striga had been <em>leaving</em>, most of all leaving <em>her</em>. Had Morana feared she might never come back? Had she been convinced of their courtship's end in that moment? Mercy, how painful it must have been.</p><p>Striga carefully takes up Morana's hand from where it rests with both of her own, covering it completely between her broader palms. Just as she hopes, it raises Morana's gaze to her.</p><p>"Might I make a promise to you?"</p><p>Morana casts her a strange, wary look. She had likely expected a number of responses, and this had clearly not been one of them. "Preferably one you mean to keep."</p><p>"I do." Striga nods once and waits, hoping for leave to continue which Morana doesn't wait long to grant. "I promise to stay."</p><p>Morana shakes her head with an unsteady exhale. "You can't,"</p><p>"Yes I can." Striga insists gently. "Maybe not always in person, but I will stay. I will...I will settle here, and I will stay...at your side. Even if there should come a time when we are no longer lovers, you and I will remain sisters. Any need you have, I will see it met, and if I ever abandon you, I will happily bare my face to the rising sun." And Striga means every word, as she is an honorable woman.</p><p>Because she wants nothing more than to be the source of Morana's happiness, and if that means swearing on her own immortality, on anything at all, so be it.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><span class="u">Author's Note:</span> That was something, wasn't it? After this is likely a chapter or two of "moments" between them, covering the coming weeks up to the new years formal, and depending how that goes, there will be an epilogue -the content of which depending on how the story flows from here as well. If anyone has anything they would like to see, be it wholesome or silly or spicy, feel free to send any my way. I'll be sure to mention you in the notes if I use it. Otherwise, have a great one!</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Chapter Twenty-Four</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If anyone were to ask, Striga would, without reservation, declare that she did <em>not</em> want to be here, in one of the castle's numerous large rooms, and did <em>not</em> want to do this. She would sooner return to the archives for another lesson -the very first of which tonight had been positively brain burning- than do this. Even with Morana and Lenore's easy assurances that it isn't nearly as difficult as it sounds, Striga finds her stomach turning at the prospect of learning to dance. She has never much cared for social gatherings to begin with, and that is doubly true for the idea of something as rigid as a formal occasion between various nobles where they were likely to do little more than strut and posture to impress one another.</p><p>"You're not alone in your sentiment, general." Carmilla sighs as she comes striding into the room. "However, this is a matter of tradition, so I'm afraid we must play by the rules just this once. We need to craft a comfortable, <em>safe</em>-looking facade for our allies, let them believe it's all business as usual."</p><p>Striga takes a moment to weigh the notion, realizes it is, in it's own way, rather brilliant, and nods. "I still hate it."</p><p>"Indeed, but it is only one night. Surely you have endured far worse things for a much greater span of time."</p><p>"Allow me a moment to consider that." and she smirks when Carmilla laughs, an expression that widens slightly when she flits her eyes to Morana to see her grinning as well.</p><p>"It's also an excellent opportunity to get acquainted with people you might have to kill later." Lenore adds with a unsettlingly casual delivery.</p><p>"Isn't this function primarily for our allies?" Striga cocks an eyebrow at her much smaller sister.</p><p>"It is, but god only knows how long that will remain true as our reign continues."</p><p>"I would sooner kill the lot of them." Carmilla admits, "But, for now, our purpose is to reassure them."</p><p>Striga grumbles. "Could I not just relegate myself to the security detail?"</p><p>"Taubert is already in charge of that matter, I'm afraid." Morana informs her with a touch of sympathy. "And she has been working very hard to ensure the event is secure. Not to mention that your attendance is, like it or not, compulsory as a council member."</p><p>"So? Then we are the hosts, we do as we please, no? Then I simply will not dance."</p><p>"We must be <em>good</em> hosts, my dear general, and that means properly entertaining our guests."</p><p>Striga's brow flattens at her, partly out of disapproval, and partly because Morana hasn't referred to her in that way for some time now and she is unsure of how it feels now. She swallows it down to address later, then her face scrunches up and she shrugs. "<em>Fuck</em>."</p><p>Morana smiles and tries not to laugh, finding the way her lover expresses her misery somewhat endearing. She approaches Striga steadily, reaching up to unfold Striga's arms from the tight cross she has them in over her chest, and takes both of her hands with her own. She waits until Striga meets her gaze, easily spying the uncertainty in those bright green eyes.</p><p>"I have no doubt that you can do this." Morana says softly. "You're brilliant and capable, and we have plenty of time."</p><p>Striga takes a breath, the compliments rolling through her like distant thunder, her pulse surging briefly. "Yes, brilliant and capable <em>when I'm invested</em>. I am decidedly not invested in this."</p><p>"It's for the sake of the council, our reputation. We have a great deal riding on this, and how our allies come to perceive us stands to help or hinder us a great deal."</p><p>"I understand, but-,"</p><p>"<em>Do you not wish to dance with me</em>?" she slips into Slavic, feeling the question to be more personal than might be appropriate with their other sisters present.</p><p>Striga blinks, her eyes wide and her pupils flexing in a way only a human could miss. "<em>I</em> ... <em>well</em> , <em> no</em> , <em> it's not that</em> . <em>I just</em>," and whatever else she might have said just dissolves in her mouth.</p><p>"<em>Perhaps</em> , <em> if you cannot be invested in the matter for the council's sake</em> , <em> then could you be invested for mine</em> ? <em>I wish to be seen with you</em> , <em>so</em> , <em>naturally I would prefer we look our best</em> . <em>Though</em> , <em> I know it is a great deal to ask of you</em>,"</p><p>Striga feels her heart drop and clench and soften and all sorts of other things at the look and the tone Morana presents to her. It's a mess of feelings that tells her this woman is going to be the death of her some day, and that it didn't really sound all that bad, to be truthful. Her thicker, stronger fingers curl carefully around Morana's, and she can feel her expression softening.</p><p>"<em>And would that make you happy</em> , <em> my lady</em> ? <em>To dance and be seen with me</em>?"</p><p>Morana smiles to unveil her dimples and fangs. "<em>More than I can say</em>."</p><p>Striga nods, conceding, and briefly wonders if Morana knows just how impossible it is for her to say no these days. Then again, Morana was simply taking advantage of the promise she had allowed Striga to make those few nights ago, so <em>no</em> wasn't an option. "Very well then, as you wish. Although," Striga chuckles, "I wish to apologize in advance, as I am sure to step on your feet."</p><p>"Apology accepted," Morana laughs, keeping their hands together a little longer. "Though, you shouldn't feel so bad, Lenore stepped on my feet a lot too."</p><p>"That's hardly a comparison," Striga counters, "she's easily only half my size."</p><p>Lenore perks up, expression puzzled. "I can't help but feel like there's an insult in there somewhere."</p><p>"No insult, just a simple truth; you are small and have tiny feet." Striga clarifies, tucking her lips between her teeth at the sour look Lenore casts her way when her words sink in.</p><p>"Well, with that being said, I suppose <em>you</em> stepping on Morana's feet would be more like a drawbridge collapsing on them." Lenore's sourness turns smug at Striga's fanged scowl, though she can sense that her sister's disapproval is mostly performative.</p><p>"Now, ladies, you're all pretty, but we <em>do</em> have work to do." Carmilla cuts between them before it can progress, not that she was concerned that it might escalate from there, but <em>someone</em> had to keep them on task if they wouldn't do it themselves.</p><p>The four of them share a little laugh, and then Striga and Morana turn their attention back to one another.</p><p>"I'll be sure to give you extra attention once we've finished here," Morana says quietly, giving Striga a telling look. "Perhaps dinner and a bath for two?"</p><p>"Hmm," Striga purrs with a grin and a lilting nod. "Tempting indeed, but I'm afraid it will have to wait, I resume training with Taubert tonight."</p><p>"Ah, I see, very well. Your chambers or mine?"</p><p>"Mine, and I would ask that you stay the day with me." Striga decides quickly, realizing she has plans of her own once the opportunity presents itself. She watches Morana's reaction to her answer, sees she's trying to read something that she likely senses is there but cannot name or provide evidence of, to which Striga just smiles knowingly.</p><p>Similar to the way she will smile later tonight, sitting with Morana in front of her fireplace, idolizing her good lady bathed in golden light while kissing her feet and apologizing a million times for all her missteps, to which Morana only laughs and reassures her, before Striga soundly takes her there on the bear-skin rug.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>(--)</em>
</p><p>Morana has spent nights, and some days, silently examining and dissecting Striga's promise, the sound of her boundless sincerity echoing in Morana's bones. In the beginning she felt two very strong, but very opposing things about it; cynicism at such a lofty thing, and elation at what could possibly be the closest anyone has ever come to saying they loved her -in this context, at least. Now, more than a week later, her view has more so blended, become something more nuanced and no less complex. Part of her wants to leap into it, to wholly trust that Striga will keep her word, but her better judgment simply said <em>no</em>. Said it's a trap and that she was setting herself up for something agonizing somewhere down the road.</p><p>What she would give for a definite answer <em>now</em> . However, this is one of those things that she could only wait and see to fruition, if there would be any at all or if it would all fall apart. Some vampires, supposedly, could see the future, Morana was not one of them, so she would have to <em>hope</em>, and that is far from a stable base to depend on. Hope, faith, trust, all fragile things that she abruptly realizes she had been putting substantially more stock in these nights, to her own surprise. But surely it was not without just cause, not without sufficient evidence...right?</p><p>Her busy thoughts screech to halt at the heavy, shifting body at her side. Striga has developed a tendency to sprawl in her sleep, especially in Morana's bed, and now she has at last found her way from her side of the mattress to stretch an arm across Morana's waist while dropping her head unceremoniously on her shoulder. Before she stills, Morana manages to raise her arm that Striga might nestle against her chest, giving Morana uninhibited access to that fathomless mess of sable hair. Striga grunts and rumbles for a moment, slurring something in Slavic - "<em>Papa</em> , <em>the cows</em> , <em> it's a full moon tonight</em>,"- before she finally quiets and stills.</p><p>Morana's worries seem leagues away now as she threads Striga's hair between her fingers and admires her sleeping face. She <em>does</em> seem to be sleeping much more soundly now, something Morana feels she can take just a little credit for. She wants to believe that she has somehow brought Striga more comfort, allowed her to relax in a way she likely never has -she wants to believe it so much that it hurts, so she lets herself have it for now. However, Striga hasn't said anything about it, so Morana can't help but wonder if she has noticed it at all. Not that it would hurt anything if she hasn't.</p><p>Maybe when she does, Morana considers, she'll be able to tell Striga that she loves her -because she <em>will</em>, damn it. And maybe then Striga will be able to say it back.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>(--)</em>
</p><p>It's getting easier, yes, but it feels like no less of a burden.</p><p>"I still hate it." Striga laments quietly.</p><p>"But you're getting better, you haven't stepped on my feet yet tonight." Morana assures her with an easy smile. "Just a few more sessions and I have no doubt you'll be leading."</p><p>"Provided I haven't flung myself from the tower by then."</p><p>"Come now, love," Morana sighs, "I would rather not turn our little hideaway into a memorial for you."</p><p>"Assuming the fall kills me," Striga lilts her head as they continue to step in time. Lenore is playing the harp for them to dance to, and is surprisingly skilled. Likely the most pleasant thing about these sessions, aside from the beautiful woman looking up at her.</p><p>"Assuming that is indeed your intent." Morana counters.</p><p>"I was hoping to merely be maimed to an extent and have to convalesce for the next few weeks, sadly missing Carmilla's party."</p><p>"Oh yes, that would be <em>tragic</em>." Morana feigns a pout.</p><p>"On the other hand," Striga smirks and there is now a touch of suggestion in her voice, "it would be an opportunity for you to nurse me back to health."</p><p>Morana returns the sentiment with equal playfulness. "I distinctly remember someone saying they didn't <em>need</em> a nurse." She says with almost musical quality to her voice.</p><p>"Oh, my lady, you <em>wound</em> me." Striga groans. "How dare you make me eat my words,"</p><p>Morana laughs in a soft but bright way, a way that makes Striga's heart clench that threatens to make her swoon. Not that she would ever let anyone catch her <em>swooning</em>, god forbid.</p><p>"I cry your pardon, love," Morana's eyes flit downward, habitually checking the placement of their feet. "One must do their part to maintain proper perspective of things."</p><p>Striga just huffs and lets the back-and-forth dissolve, though there is nothing unpleasant about it. For a time the two give their full attention to the task at hand, and Striga is fighting the urge to look down; she would rather hold Morana's gaze and soak up the traces of what she believes to be pride in her eyes. Morana was right, she <em>is</em> getting better at this.</p><p>"You've been calling me that quite often as of late."</p><p>"Hmm?" Morana appears to blink back to the present. But, by the same token, she is so well practiced in dance, she doesn't have to think about it, so her mind wandering off isn't so surprising.</p><p>"You keep calling me <em>love</em>,"</p><p>Morana cannot stop the surge in her pulse or how it sends tepid blood into her cheeks. Striga isn't wrong, but Morana had been doing it long enough now -the whole time without a reaction from Striga- that she wasn't even thinking about it consciously anymore. "Oh, that." She swallows, mentally bracing. "Do you not like it? I will stop, if you prefer, I know how you are about pet names."</p><p>Striga hums, contemplative, curious, and for a few beats they continue to step and turn across the floor. "You could certainly do worse." she says at last. "And I find myself not as nauseated," she gives a little chuckle, a bit of assurance, "so you may use it if it pleases you."</p><p>Morana appears to visibly relax, easing a tightness in her shoulders that neither of them had seemed to notice until it was gone. There's more blood in her cheeks and she is smiling enough for her dimples to show. Seeing that change, her smile, makes Striga not try to think so hard about the implications of such a monicker -because she can sense that it is indeed heavy with something. Something that she would sooner not address before she could seek it out in herself.</p><p>Something that she wanted to feel, but knows she cannot manufacture or force. If it was to manifest in her at all, it would have to grow and make itself known in it's own time. Only then would she share it, because Morana deserved for that to be real.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>(--)</em>
</p><p>"I simply wish for some time to myself, it is not meant as a slight against you." Striga had assured her, holding her hand and kissing her knuckle. "But I will return to your side come morning, as I will not ask you to sleep alone."</p><p>Morana had accepted it without hesitation, knowing well enough that socializing wears her lover down in a way that it doesn't for most others. So it isn't difficult at all to imagine that the dance lessons and the training and whatever she was up to in the archives these days must have drawn Striga terribly thin. No doubt someone of Striga's particular nature found solitude somewhat refreshing. But, as the nights carried on, now to the tune of four, Morana feels...needy? Was that really the right word? She couldn't think of another, more appropriate one, which is saying a great deal considering the massive lexicon of language that resided in her mind.</p><p>She almost feels the need to chastise herself for the notion, however. Morana was a grown woman, wholly capable to act on her own and occupy herself without aid, but...she didn't want to. She simply didn't wish to be alone, not because of any real detriment to herself, because being alone was...miserable. Morana refused to consider she might be dependent on Striga's company -yes, in a way it's true, but she wasn't about to think of it as an obsession. She loved Striga, loved her presence and the comfort it brings her, why wouldn't she want to keep that? And yes, sharing a bed managed to keep the worst of her longing at bay, but that just wasn't the same as being together while awake; she couldn't see Striga's smile or hear her laugh or hold her hands. It wasn't the same. It wasn't enough.</p><p>A little, doubtful thought couldn't be kept from her mind; did Striga feel this? Did she ever miss Morana? Surely not when they inhabit these same halls and walls. Was she so accustomed to keeping others at arm's length that the simple knowledge that Morana was nearby was enough to satisfy her? Suppose she would have to ask.</p><p>But the doubt is forgotten on that fifth night. After her training on the archery range, after their shared ride back up to the palace, Striga took Morana's arm as they crossed the courtyard and went inside.</p><p>"Give me but an hour or two, that I might make myself presentable, and then I would ask that you join me in my chambers."</p><p>Morana smiled, relieved. "Very well. Do you mean for me to stay the day?"</p><p>"It would please me greatly, yes, but I leave the decision to you." And Striga would keep a secure, almost possessive hold of her hand until they parted in the forked corridor, after a deceptively innocent kiss to Morana's hand.</p><p>Morana hurried back to her chambers to freshen up, change clothes, wearing what she felt was certain to make her <em>seen</em>. She was starved for Striga's attention, so she pulls on those trousers she knows Striga likes and a silk blouse that is cut scandalously low in the front; it's something she isn't opposed to sleeping in, although it's likely Striga will have something to loan her for the day if she goes to bed wearing anything at all.</p><p>Her whole body feels like it's buzzing with anticipation by the time Morana reaches Striga's door, but for all that, she finds herself stopping just as she reaches for the handle. She could hear something soft coming from the other side, acknowledgment turning her features with curiosity as she didn't immediately recognize what it was. Morana leans a little closer to the door, leading with her ear and focusing...is that...?</p><p>Morana knows well enough how to move about unheard, and she does so masterfully so as not to disturb what she thinks is going on inside the room. She inches through the minimal space she opens in the door, mindful to the mechanism of the handle as she slowly, <em>slowly</em> releases it. Looking across the room she can see Striga in her large, plush chair by the glowing fireplace, seeming completely unaware of her presence due to focusing resolutely on something in her hands, and from there Morana can hear the lilting strains of her voice. She was <em>singing</em>. Morana is immediately spellbound, staying perfectly still where she stands aside from the steadily widening, delighted smile on her face.</p><p>She doesn't understand the words, the language has the turn of something Slavic, perhaps, but it didn't much matter. Morana is completely caught up in the wonder of something new and unknown and hauntingly beautiful. Her love is <em>singing</em>, and her voice is more rich and smooth than Morana could have imagined. Not that she ever had; Striga never struck her as the type for something so...soft? So the idea of this never crossed Morana's mind, but, <em>oh</em>, how she adores it now.</p><p>Striga eventually goes quiet, the notes still ringing in her head, in her body for a time. It had been some time since she indulged herself with a song, so it feels good in a way she can't really name. Her focus remains on her hands, on her task, until she hears what sounds like a little sigh from behind her, then she's jackknifing to her feet and turning as quick as a thought to see what it was. "O-oh, Morana, I didn't hear you come in."</p><p>"I'm sorry."</p><p>"What," Sable brows knit and skew, curious and puzzled as to why her good lady had such a starry look about her eyes. "Is everything all right?"</p><p>"That was <em>beautiful</em>."</p><p>"Wha-...you heard that," Striga feels herself shrink in a way, unsure and hoping against hope that the sensation didn't manifest in a visible way. She can already feel the heat of blood in her face, she didn't need more than that.</p><p>"I did, and it was <em>wonderful</em>." Morana wears a smile that's all dimples and teeth as she crosses the room, her arms opening to Striga once she's close enough. She doesn't seem to notice her lover's slight reluctance, like Striga is bracing for something, and just embraces her all the same. She looks up at Striga, her lover's expression still unsure. "What language was it? Where did you learn?"</p><p>"I, well," Striga thinks to push a hand nervously through her hair, but remembers both hands are full and one is holding a knife so she resists. "Don't...actually know the language, but it is Polish, I think. There were Pols in Welsh's company, a whole family of them even...they liked to sing and I liked to listen." God, why couldn't she speak straight? And why won't her pulse settle? It's just Morana...and she's spouting compliments at her with the most earnest tone of voice she likely ever has. And Striga had certainly <em>not</em> been prepared to share that degree of vulnerability, not with anyone. Yet here they are anyhow.</p><p>"My valiant knight isn't bashful, is she?"</p><p>"Morana, please," Striga huffs, looking away with a deflective roll of her eyes.</p><p>Morana giggles and apologizes, releasing her hold about Striga's waist and taking a step back. "I'm sorry if I have embarrassed you, I didn't mean it. But it <em>was</em> delightful."</p><p>"Th-thank you." Striga clears her throat. "Won't you sit? Given a moment, I can clean up,"</p><p>Morana takes a moment to offer a closer appraisal of Striga and her space; there is what look to be wood shavings and chips across the rug and Striga's clothes. Her eyes flit up to the ottoman where there are more bits of wood and a small collection of tools that's aren't so unlike her own. "What have you been up to?" she asks curiously, intrigued.</p><p>"Ah, just...a little thing, um," Striga hurriedly brushes herself off, brushes the large chair clean as well only to swear under her breath at the new mess on the floor. "I'm sorry,"</p><p>"Don't apologize." Morana insists, her smile and her interested audible in her voice. "Are you making something?"</p><p>"Y-yes." Striga finally exhales, unable to focus enough on one task to complete it before worrying about something else she needed to do, so she simply stands there amidst the little mess. "It is...a gift...it isn't much. It's for Lenore." And while she wants to spin her ring, instead she fumbles the hunk of shaped wood between her hands. "Christmas and such."</p><p>"May I see?" Morana doesn't presume to take it, but allows Striga to show her. Her eyes light up. "Is that a bear?"</p><p>"It is...or it will be, when it's finished." Striga smiles and laughs, the sound laced with nerves and she can't meet Morana's eyes. "I...I remembered that papa was a woodworker. He taught me some things...and then some of the books you left for me...helped jog my memory. I thought Lenore would like it, seeing as she gave up on a real one. It's a sort of thank you to her as well, I suppose."</p><p>Giving it a closer look, Morana can make out the soft, pear-shape of the bear's main body in a sitting position, the makings of a muzzle and ears, and all four paws with the forepaws tucking to the belly and the hind paws out. It still needed some work, she thinks, but finds even this much positively adorable, the emotion filling up behind her ribs to bursting.</p><p>Looking up at Striga she casts the softest gaze she can muster. "You're such a marvel, my love. I'm beginning to think there's nothing you can't do."</p><p>Striga clears her throat again, thinking to say something but unable to work it out before she's trying to focus on anything else. She certainly does <em>not</em> know what to do with how she feels at present and she knows looking at Morana directly wouldn't help matters at all, so she just nods and tries again to straighten up and give her good lady a tidy place to sit. She quickly gathers up all the tools and a number of wood shaving into her arms to hurry across the room and dump them on her desk, carefully setting down the half-finished bear before all but rushing back. Then she swiftly brushes the bits and chips off the ottoman and into the fireplace with the rest of the charred remains of unsatisfactory and outright failed previous attempts. With that done she makes a relieved sort of exhale as she plops back into her chair, realizing much too late that she had complete forgotten to offer it to Morana as she had originally intended.</p><p>"Don't get up." Morana senses Striga's anxiety, though isn't softened by it. It's not the same as when she has nightmares or forgets something, more so just innocent jitters, and she finds them somewhat...cute. But there's something else there, something she feels a desperate need to ask about. "You know there's a reason why I chose such a big chair for you."</p><p>"Ah, yes," Striga says dryly, nodding. "Then, by all means, please sit."</p><p>Morana cuts a relaxed, satisfied and felid grin, watching Striga draw her own thighs apart to make a space. It's an expression that only grows, lengthens and deepens when Striga goes wide-eyed, not at all expecting Morana to pull her legs back together that Morana might slide atop them still facing her, straddling Striga's broad lap. The stretch between Morana's legs feels delicious.</p><p>For a brief moment Striga can only look straight ahead, which isn't the worst thing considering the criminally low cut of Morana's blouse. Her gaze drags upward, eventually meeting Morana's eyes that glimmer with something heated. "Do you want something?"</p><p>Morana laughs, the sound smooth and golden like spooling honey. "Perhaps. But I have a question."</p><p>"Certainly."</p><p>"Have you always gotten so," she pauses to think, "wound up by compliments?"</p><p>"...What do you mean?"</p><p>"Your heart," She starts softly, raising her hands to smooth over Striga's that rest on the arms of the chair, gently pushing them along the muscled columns of her arms towards her shoulders. "I've noticed it beats rather swiftly when I say nice things to you."</p><p>"Well," Striga lilts her head, struggling to make her voice sound level and casual, not dry and tight and treacherous. "Who wouldn't appreciate kind words from a beautiful woman?"</p><p>"But <em>this</em> is different, isn't it?" Morana's hands stall at Striga's biceps, giving them a testing squeeze and mentally relishing how they tense and bulge for a moment in response. "I get the feeling that it is, and in a way that is...more than platonic."</p><p>Striga is finding it hard to hold her gaze again, feeling like she needs to find a way out of this conversation because she <em>still</em> doesn't know what to make of how she feels, primarily in the physical sense. Emotionally she feels like she's been caught.</p><p>"What makes you say that?"</p><p>"As I mentioned before, your heart gives you away. It's usually so steady around me, even when we're making love, but now," her hands have reached Striga's collarbones, smoothing along the hard line of them before one of them eases up the column of her throat to cup her cheek. "It flutters like a bird in a cage."</p><p>Striga swallows and leans into that gentle hand as her eyes drift close. There's something grounding in it, soothing, making her realize there's no point in dancing around this. "Suppose so. I don't understand it, but, yes...something about you makes it different."</p><p>Morana gives a little laugh. "Don't sound so guilty, love, there's nothing wrong with you, I am merely asking on behalf of curiosity. I'm still <em>quite</em> curious about you, especially of late."</p><p>"Oh?"</p><p>"Indeed." Morana nods to drive the point home, coupling it with her other hand combing through Striga's hair, her talons scratching carefully. "I want to know what makes you feel good, what excites you, seeing as you seem to know so much in that regard about me. I wish to give you pleasure,"</p><p>"Ah, I see." at least she feels like she does. Her brain feels hazy in a way she only somewhat likes, just like the realization that she can feel her pulse pounding between her legs.</p><p>"We don't have to discuss it now, if you are not comfortable." Because Morana senses that, somewhere on the periphery of her awareness there's an anxious static that isn't her own. She had caught Striga off guard from the start, and that possibly had an impact on how this conversation is going. "But, perhaps in the future,"</p><p>"Y-yes, another time." Striga nods after a second, exhaling as if relieved of something heavy. "I'm sorry."</p><p>"Stop apologizing, you are as you are, and I would not see you be ashamed of it." Now Morana's arms wind together behind Striga's neck, draw her in, and she presses a lingering kiss to her forehead. For a moment Morana simply holds her there, granting Striga another kiss when those powerful arms circle her waist and squeeze.</p><p>Morana starts a little at the muffled vibrations of Striga's voice against her neck, pulling back just enough. "Pardon?"</p><p>"I am...working on a gift for you as well." She repeats with noticeable reluctance. "I'm afraid it will not be ready any time soon, but..."</p><p>Morana feels her heart swelling again, nudging her with the thought of just kissing Striga silly. "You didn't have to,"</p><p>"I wanted to." <em>And I just hope you'll understand it.</em> "But, if there is something I could give you in the interim, I'd be happy to."</p><p>"Well, I've never really observed the holiday, <em>but</em>, since you're offering," Morana smirks, exaggerating just how much she's thinking it over. "I want your time. No lessons, no training, no work, just <em>us</em> for the entire night."</p><p>Striga rumbles and hums in a satisfactory way. "As you wish."</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>(--)</em>
</p><p>Dance lessons were hard enough at the best of times, but this one in particular stood to be even more difficult. Up until now, Morana had been her only dance partner, but seeing as her good lady was detained at present with her particular brand of business, Carmilla had to fill in. It isn't the difference in stature between them, as Carmilla and Morana were of similar height and build, but Striga's comfort in the queen's presence is, even now, still strictly professional.</p><p>"I don't bite, general." Carmilla smirks.</p><p>"You explicitly do." Striga counters neutrally, mentally surprised when she laughs. "As do we all."</p><p>"We certainly are a <em>mouthy</em> bunch." Lenore giggles from her seat, harp propped on her thigh.</p><p>"Only in the best ways." Carmilla dictates, still grinning. Then she takes hold of Striga's hands, putting one at her hip and keeping hold of the other. "Ready?"</p><p>Striga just makes an acknowledging hum and tries to ignore how much she simply <em>doesn't</em> like touching <em>or</em> being touched by Carmilla. Something about it just doesn't feel right, for multiple reasons, not the least of which being that she isn't Morana. For a split second she wonders if Morana feels the same when she touches someone else now?</p><p>Carmilla is keen to it the moment Lenore starts to play, not the specifics, but the general is clearly tense about something and it's just the well honed predator in her that reflexively picks up on it. Otherwise, however, Striga is perfectly capable of leading without any obvious signs of her discomfort; her steps are measured and sure, her timing is spot on.</p><p>"You're showing exceptional improvement, general." Carmilla says easily, like it's nothing, and to Striga it feels as much. "Then again, Morana is an excellent teacher."</p><p>"She is."</p><p>"And she is certainly more suited for parties than the two of us."</p><p>"Clearly. Lenore as well."</p><p>"The poor thing <em>lives</em> for them," Carmilla rolls her eyes a little, taking the chance to cast a cheeky smirk over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of her littlest sister giving her the finger and a grin for all of a second. "Then again, that's when she does her best work, so I can't rightly complain."</p><p>"You are the queen, you can complain all you like."</p><p>"Lot of good it does me." Carmilla scoffs.</p><p>Several beats pass, the dance continuing as it is meant to without another word. Striga is trying to focus entirely on the task at hand, a part of her dreading the idea of having the conversation carry on, while Carmilla is trying to further read her. It's damn near impossible, something that surprises the queen in a way she doesn't much care for.</p><p>"I was very particular about choosing both of them as my advisers." Carmilla continues on a whim.</p><p>"I thought it was the king who recruited Lenore and Morana to the court?"</p><p>"Officially, yes, then again, he always made sure that everything looked to be his idea." Carmilla grumbles that last part. "He wanted more...participation from me in regards to matters of state, and I told him in no uncertain terms that I would have my own staff. Because how could I possibly trust a handful of men who refused to trust my word simply on the grounds of me being a woman?"</p><p>Striga seems to weigh the notion, lilting her head with a curt hum. "Makes sense. However, with that being said, I cannot help but wonder how he found his way to me."</p><p>"In truth, it was purely happenstance, I think. Rumors from eastern refugees told of the Mongol horde and their <em>giant</em> that only came out at night and left nothing but ravaged villages in its wake. It intrigued him enough to investigate personally -you see, he had an affinity for...collecting people, I suppose."</p><p>"Suppose I appeared to be quite the novelty to him." the idea of being reduced to something someone might just as soon prop up on a mantle is disgusting.</p><p>"Indeed, enough to bring you back with him."</p><p>"Hm."</p><p>"You likely would have been my military councilor from the beginning if he hadn't been so afraid of you."</p><p>"Morana mentioned suspicion of as much some time ago. That he thought I would come for his crown if kept too close."</p><p>"Probably, but the fact that he practically banished you to the frontier suggests he was convinced you could succeed. In that case, I actually have to thank you."</p><p>This is perhaps the first time since they began that Striga actually looks directly at Carmilla, and she does so with her brows cocked uneven and her eyes set with curiosity.</p><p>"The distraction of worrying about keeping you at a distance probably lent to my success."</p><p>Striga nods reluctantly, wholly unsure of how she should feel. An -albeit distant- accessory to regicide...is that something to be proud of?</p><p>"But I couldn't have done it without Morana. She was my chief conspirator."</p><p>Striga's brow furrows and she almost missteps, but the mistake is easily covered up with supernatural grace. "Why are you telling me this?"</p><p>"I'm getting to it." Carmilla sighs with a hint of frustration, not appreciating what she feels was a minor interruption. "Trusting Morana to help me kill the king had been the ultimate test of faith for me, at a time when I hadn't any. You see, Morana is a professional, she's very keen to maintaining order as well as her own position, but I think she took pity on me, to be frank, though I never thought her the sort to even feel such a thing. She can be rather vicious."</p><p>"I'm aware."</p><p>"No doubt." One snowy brow lifts in congress with a knowing smirk. "I suppose what I'm getting at, general, is that I need you to understand how important Morana is to me. I need to make sure you're aware how vital she is to me and my kingdom and the council." Now that smirk has dissolved into a hard, crimson painted line. "Lenore has described the council to me as the body and that I am the dream, and in the case of Morana that is painfully true. For all my plotting and planning, it is the three of you that make it all <em>real</em>." she laughs. "Sometimes I think Morana is better suited for the crown than I am."</p><p>"But her strengths are most effective in her current position. The weight of a crown would restrict her too much."</p><p>"Indeed." Carmilla sounds incredibly pleased to say. "So it would seem you're keenly aware of the nature of things."</p><p>"After a fashion. And, with that being said," Striga takes a beat to weigh her choice of words, "is this where you threaten me for Morana's sake? Is that what you've <em>really</em> been getting at?"</p><p>Carmilla laughs, going so far as to tip back her head and open her mouth wide enough to show off her fangs. "Can't put anything passed you, can I?"</p><p>"It's really not necessary."</p><p>"So it would appear." Carmilla gives one last breathy chuckle, but holds her smile a little longer. "But you could hardly blame me."</p><p>"I am not blaming you for anything, in fact I find it surprisingly endearing that you care about her enough to try and intimidate me. However, I would have to be afraid of you to begin with, and I would also have to be <em>more</em> afraid of you than I am of whatever Morana might put me through should I ever do her harm, neither of which are true."</p><p>Carmilla casts a mildly disproving sort of scowl because she has never had a solution for handling people she couldn't terrify. "In any case," she turns up her nose a bit, putting off a certain aloofness, "I've noticed a change in Morana in the last weeks, a <em>good </em>change, and I would like for that to persist. She deserves to be happy and I would see that she is."</p><p>"Likewise; in that regard we have the same goals, and I mean to see to them as best as I am able."</p><p>"As happy as she's been, you seem to be doing a fine job as it is." Lenore says.</p><p>Striga's head cuts to the side to look hopefully at her smaller sister. "You think so?"</p><p>Lenore nods and adds "None of us can even begin to measure just how eagerly and at what inhuman velocity Morana is willing to throw herself at you at any given time."</p><p>Carmilla laughs, but Striga doesn't even appear to notice. Her attention is more focused on the warm, almost plush comfort she feels in her chest. <em>Morana is happy enough for others to see it...must be doing something right.</em></p><p> </p><p>When the lesson concludes, Striga excuses herself to see to the rest of her evening itinerary. Training with Taubert seems to drag tonight without Morana there to watch; suppose her work was rather imperative to keep her like this. With this notion in mind, Striga didn't expect to actually find Morana upon returning to her chambers, waiting for her.</p><p>"There you are, my love." Morana greets her sweetly, with a fanged smile to match.</p><p>Striga says nothing as she quickly strides across the room to the common table where Morana stands, gathering her up in her arms and soundly kissing her in congress with lifting her off the floor. Oh, touching Morana is <em>much</em> more pleasant. She loves the pleasured hum Morana makes, reciprocating with something similar before setting her down.</p><p>"I missed you." Striga says before she can stop herself.</p><p>"And I you," Morana is smiling from ear to ear, running her hand slowly along Striga's jaw, admiring her. "I have a little gift for you, and perhaps that will make up in part for my absence."</p><p>One pitch brow rises. "Oh? And what might that be?"</p><p>Striga half expects Morana to start undressing her, or herself as the case has been at times, but she doesn't. Instead she turns to the common table, to the pitcher of blood and the already filled glass that Morana takes up and passes to her. Striga takes it with a curious smile but no argument, and then fresh curiosity turns her sharp features. "It's still warm,"</p><p>Morana nods with a satisfied grin. "It is the hunter's."</p><p>"Ah." Striga gives an exaggerated nod. "He's dead then?"</p><p>"Soon." Primarily because she thinks he hasn't suffered enough. He had penance to pay yet. "As it would turn out, everything he told me was true. I received word from my shadows tonight that they had discovered his order's base of operations. They will wait and observe, see if there is anything of value they can spare us, until they receive my order to destroy it."</p><p>Now Striga's face turns into something proud. "Excellent." She drawls, almost purrs.</p><p>"But I thought you deserved the first drink, while it was still fresh."</p><p>"So thoughtful, my lady." Striga winds one arm about Morana's waist, pulling her just a little closer. Then Striga tips her glass as Morana's hands settle against her abdomen. "To victory."</p><p>"To vengeance."</p><p>Striga's smile widens. "To us."</p><p>"To us."</p><p>Striga takes only a small mouthful, relishing in the flavor of rich life and warmth for but a moment before tightening her grip on Morana and pulling her against the barrel of her chest for a sweet, sanguine kiss.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><span class="u">Author's Note:</span> So I initially planned to squash all these little "moments" into one chapter, but that made it feel too big, I guess? I know you folks don't mind that, but I do, so I'm going to slap the next bit of soft gay shit into the next chapter. Three chapters tops before this one is finished, we'll see. There might be an epilogue, maybe not. If there's a particular way you would like to see this story end, don't hesitate to share -who knows, maybe it'll inspire me. Take care!</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Chapter Twenty-Five</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Morana knows it's early, the sun long since risen, but she </span>
  <em>must</em>
  <span> finish drafting the invitation or else she wouldn't be able to sleep. She sits up in bed, lap desk perched atop an up-drawn thigh as her hand puts ink to parchment. So engrossed in her work, she never pays heed to the shifting of the supposedly slumbering body beside her, even as it draws steadily closer. She has no reaction to it at all until she feels large palms and strong fingers around her thighs beneath the blankets.</span>
</p>
<p>"Striga," Morana says pointedly, seemingly undisturbed. "I'm trying to work."</p>
<p>"You should be trying to sleep." Striga grumbles against Morana's now bare thigh from under the covers, having quickly pushed Morana's nightgown high enough. "The work will still be there at sundown."</p>
<p>"And, should I set my work aside, do you think what you're doing now will help me sleep?"</p>
<p>"...Eventually." there's an audible smile, and a tangible one that sends gooseflesh rippling across Morana's body.</p>
<p>
  <span> "So help me," Morana has to grind the words out, "if I have to start over, I'm going to </span>
  <em>stab</em>
  <span> you with this pen,"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "Then you should put," Striga pauses, kissing steadily closer to the apex of Morana's thighs in a measured rhythm, "the pen," two more, "</span>
  <em>down</em>
  <span>."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "</span>
  <em>Hah</em>
  <span>," Morana gasps and shudders, her writing hand thankfully far from the page in front of her. "</span>
  <em>Striga</em>
  <span>, please," She feels her lover rumble against her already slick folds and feels like she might collapse, never mind that she was already lying down. "</span>
  <em>You silver tongued devil</em>
  <span>!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> It takes all of Striga's control not to laugh, primarily because she actually -mostly- understood what Morana said. She continues diligently with her work, not wishing to give Morana </span>
  <em>that</em>
  <span> particular gift just yet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> "</span>
  <em>Striga</em>
  <span>," Now Morana whimpers, "I beg you, let me work," Then she jumps at the prick of fangs against the inside of her thigh.</span>
</p>
<p>"I'm not stopping you."</p>
<p>
  <span> "But you </span>
  <em>are</em>
  <span>," yet Morana cannot find the will or the physical means to pull away from Striga's insistent mouth. Her own fingers curl and she knows she's on the verge of snapping her pen in half, couldn't have that. "Th-there, I've put it down, are you satisfied?"</span>
</p>
<p>There's an obscenely wet pop from beneath the blanket. "Almost." Then she is immediately back to work, now slipping two fingers inside, relishing in the keening cry it draws from her good lady. She can feel the sheets shifting around her, pulled upward by Morana's talons clutching tightly into them. If that wasn't enough to make Striga feel smug -which she certainly does- the fluttering of Morana's thighs against her cheeks would have been more than plenty. Then there are claws in her hair and it only serves to spur her onward that much harder, convincing her to add a third finger on a whim.</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana tenses around her, tenses hard. "</span>
  <em>Fuck</em>
  <span>!" And then she's writhing, body arching so beautifully it's supernatural when her climax hits and she's helpless to its desperate flight. The crashing waves steadily lessen, turn to delightfully warm buzzing, and Morana collapses against her fat pillows, her fingers still tangled in Striga's hair.</span>
</p>
<p>Striga rises up beneath the blankets, pulling them back with one hand as she sinks forward while bracing on the other, lazily settling atop Morana's belly, her chin resting on her folded hands to patiently wait for Morana to eventually look at her. Because Striga knows she will, and knows those beautiful blue eyes are going to be full of an endearing mixture of satisfaction and frustration. Which she readily meets with a self-satisfied smirk. "Such language, my lady." Striga chides playfully.</p>
<p>
  <span> For a brief moment, Morana's vexation holds, her eyes narrowing, but then that look dissolves into something soft and amused and defeated. Her head drops back against the pillows and one of her hands smooths across her own forehead as she laughs breathlessly. As her mind registers Striga's own soft laughter, she cannot stop herself from sighing "I love you."</span>
</p>
<p>Then, for a few dragging seconds, everything stops. The light energy in the room has suddenly collapsed into something huge and weighted, Morana's head snapping back up that they both might cast an identical, surprised look to one another. Time stretches on, lost.</p>
<p>"Say again?" Striga manages, her usually smooth, deep voice unnaturally tight and dry sounding.</p>
<p>"I meant it." Morana blurts out, like she's trying to defend herself. Because it is the truth and it's been the truth for what feels like forever and by god she was going to argue it to her last breath and-</p>
<p>"I believe you. I just want you to say it again."</p>
<p>Morana registers the faintest hint of a smile on Striga's mouth, and can see something like hope in her eyes -something truly rare, to be sure- and it somehow renews her confidence. The shock leaves Morana's features, letting them soften into something painfully sincere. "I love you, Striga. Truly."</p>
<p>Striga quickly climbs up along her lover's body, her smile growing as she descends and covers Morana's beautiful face in the softest, sweetest kisses and wraps her arms around her. She isn't so sure she feels right in returning the sentiment with words, but suddenly she realizes how much Morana feels like home, and feels like it's progress.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>(--)</em>
</p>
<p>Striga had been true to her word, not that there had been any doubt, and forgone her usual itinerary so she could give every last moment of her time to Morana come Christmas night. The only moment she would willingly give to another is the time it takes to deliver Lenore's gift, a now completed wooden bear that the little sister fawns over with a naked honesty that touches Striga's heart.</p>
<p>Otherwise Striga saw to all the arrangements, convincing Morana that she should -"such things are work for you, my lady, and you explicitly dictated there would be no work tonight. So let me, as I do not consider them a labor." Striga considers the trust a privilege and an honor, and manages them with the utmost care. She had put in the request for their meal days in advance on the chance that some of the ingredients needed wouldn't be available. When that turned out to be the case, however, the kitchen staff assured her they had the matter in perfect order and that Lady Morana would no doubt still be pleased. Striga didn't like the idea of having to trust someone else with what she saw was her personal duty, but she was far from a seasoned chef and saw little other choice.</p>
<p>Everything else was well within her control aside from that, and Striga took to it with her usual attention and determination. She made sure her room was tidied, everything organized and in its place and clean, the bed properly made for the first time in...a while, admittedly. When the time drew near for Morana to arrive, she arranged for a bath, planning for that to be something of an event for the night -she had promised Morana an opportunity to wash her, which her good lady had expressed a keen interest in doing for some time now -nothing sexual, Morana had insisted, simply to touch her and care for her in a way. Striga had agreed, no questions asked.</p>
<p>
  <em>Any happiness I can give her, even a small one.</em>
</p>
<p>Because that, Striga decided, is what tonight was all about.</p>
<p>
  <span> When Morana arrives Striga is sure to greet her with a smile and a kiss as she allows her entry. She is pleasantly surprised to see Morana has brought her </span>
  <em>shatranj </em>
  <span>board, actually excited at the prospect of finally finishing another game -with all the goings on over the last few weeks, there simply hadn't been time. Morana assures her "I intend to win this time, general," with playful formality, to which Striga simply nods and prematurely accepts her possible defeat. Though it will keep until after dinner.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Striga feels herself relax at Morana's abject approval of the meal. It had been the only matter out of her hands, so she feels comfortably confident in everything else tonight. Even if something goes horribly wrong, she could shoulder that. Hell, Morana makes her feel like she could wear the world on her shoulders and not break a sweat, and Striga would attempt it if she only asked, never mind how impossible it is. Striga gets lost in this admiration, this helpless wonder she feels for the woman across from her, only partly catching their conversation as she is simply too caught up in </span>
  <em>her</em>
  <span> -her beauty, her brilliance, her raw divinity beyond God's eyes but not her own.</span>
</p>
<p>"Striga?"</p>
<p>She blinks and gives her head a little shake. "Hm?"</p>
<p>Morana giggles behind her hand. "Was I boring you?"</p>
<p>"Of course not." she assures her quickly but gently. "What is it?"</p>
<p>"I asked if you were ready to play?"</p>
<p>"I am, at least until our bath is ready." and she loves the way Morana's eyes light up at the prospect.</p>
<p>Striga had considered letting Morana win, to be honest. She had yet to do so, and Striga was feeling a rare streak of generosity, but then she realizes Morana would likely see through it, and that wouldn't please her good lady at all. Instead, as a sort of middle ground, Striga plays reckless and fast, hardly thinking ahead at all as was the nature of the game. She is counting on making a large enough mistake that Morana will see it and exploit it like the genius she is. But, as it would turn out, that would not work as well as she hoped. "Checkmate, my lady." comes a reluctant declaration.</p>
<p>
  <span> "...</span>
  <em>How</em>
  <span>?" Morana's expression is a wild mixture of bewilderment and humor, something like a smile turning up only half of her mouth. "How did you do it?"</span>
</p>
<p>Striga simply inches her shoulders and smirks, seeming just as puzzled at the result as Morana. Morana narrows her eyes on her, still sporting a fanged smile, before she drops back against the chair, huffing. "It's a good thing I like you so much."</p>
<p>"Indeed, and my good fortune is not unappreciated." Striga chuckles. "Perhaps a bath will cheer you up?"</p>
<p>"Oh, is it ready? I never saw the servants come in."</p>
<p>"They're good servants, then." Then Striga rises from her seat, offering Morana her hand.</p>
<p>
  <span> The process of bathing became something like a ritual, something in the air lending to a...sacred quality to the room, to them. Clothing is shed an article at a time, their hands slow and reverent. Hair is pulled back and twisted up, the motions almost meditative. Morana takes a moment to sift through the small cupboard beneath the bench beside the tub, choosing one of the bottles of oil and adding it to the water, the room soon filled with the aroma of something floral -not quite jasmine, much to Striga's surprise. But it </span>
  <em>is</em>
  <span> nice, clean and warming.</span>
</p>
<p>In the water they face each other, becoming one another's sole focus as they come together like hands in prayer. Morana wraps herself around Striga, quite literally, with her arms about that broad, powerful neck and her thighs loosely circling her waist. She can feel Striga's thighs bracing beneath her, and those big hands fan out across her sides, Striga's fingers slotting in the spaces of her ribs. They nuzzle and kiss, little things not meant to be chased and devoured, but savored. Morana wets a cloth and starts to pull it across Striga's back, Striga's head dropping to rest against her shoulder with a pleased purr. She languidly blesses Morana's neck and shoulder and jaw with kisses, little benedictions of affection.</p>
<p>Morana's attention could only be described as devout. She went over every inch of her lover's body with her hands, the cleansing more symbolic than anything but no less sincere. Morana maps the firm planes and grooves of muscles and the hard edges of bones like a disciple in supplication, the hills and valleys of Striga's powerful musculature forming the woven mysteries of the unique string that ties them together.</p>
<p>Morana pauses at the base of Striga's throat, gently whispering "Is this all right?"</p>
<p>Striga hums, letting her eyes close and tipping back her head until Morana reflexively catches her with her free hand, effortlessly taking the weight. "It's you." The implication behind Striga's answer is painfully apparent, and Morana finds it humbling.</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana sets the cloth aside, thinking it best to forgo it's rough texture in exchange for her bare hand. She takes a handful of the water and lets it splash across Striga's exposed throat, the soft glow of lightning glass flickering like dying stars on her silvery skin. Then, mindful of the way her hand shapes around Striga's neck, she smooths along the tendons and corded muscles in a studious, intentional way. Striga's throat jumps with a swallow, drawing the pad of Morana's thumb to gently press over the spot, perhaps nothing more than curious. Morana tucks her chin and places a lingering kiss there, hyper-aware of the small, steady </span>
  <em>bump-bump</em>
  <span> of Striga's pulse against her lips.</span>
</p>
<p>Striga felt a brief, jarring tension in her body at Morana's hand at her neck, a reflex that told her to resist. But it is easily overpowered, squashed by the confidence that she is safe like this, with her. They had made this space hallowed ground, and Striga knows nothing can harm her even as she lies here, throat bared, a pliant and willing sacrifice.</p>
<p>Morana now cradles Striga's head in both hands, her index fingers lining the length of her ears, the slope of her thumbs at the angles of Striga's jaw, and for a moment they simply look at one another. Then their lips meet in the silent communion of a kiss.</p>
<p>When the time comes, Striga tries to return, at the very least, the intent of the intimate gesture, unsure if she is actually able. She feels her chest swelling with Morana's love -<em><b>love</b></em>-, threatening to crack the cage of her ribs though she hasn't a care to give it, and she can't recall the last time she felt anything so strongly. She had felt like the center of Morana's universe, cherished and irreplaceable, and Striga can't even begin to know how she could possibly reciprocate that. But she tries. Mercy, does she try. She pulls Morana against her chest, back to front, and keeps her close as her big hands move across her body, touching from head to toe and listening to the little hitching breaths that her good lady makes as she goes.</p>
<p>Morana offers quiet encouragement, leaning into the lingering kisses against her temple as she tells Striga how good she makes her feel. The thought to start showering Striga with compliments flits through her mind, but then she remembers that isn't what this is supposed to be about, and there would be ample time for that sort of worship later. Even if she had decided to indulge it, she wouldn't have been able to get a single word out as Striga's slick hand cuffs her throat -no pressure at all, simply its warmed weight, and her breath is snatched right out of her lungs.</p>
<p>They remain in the bath until the water is too cool, and then enjoy the minor task of drying one another off.</p>
<p>"What for us now?" Striga asks.</p>
<p>"I don't believe I'm quite finished with you yet." there's a surprising lack of innuendo in Morana's voice. "May I touch you some more? In bed?"</p>
<p>Striga smiles. "As you wish."</p>
<p>"Are you still comfortable with this?"</p>
<p>"I am." No hesitation, only a kiss to the top of her head in appreciation as they step back out into the main area of Striga's chambers, Morana hanging on her arm.</p>
<p>When they reach the bed, Morana requests that Striga lay on her stomach, Striga casting a curious look but nonetheless complying. She'll pull down the blankets and make a little show of stretching before lying down, snatching a couple of pillows to prop her chin on. After a few seconds of nothing, Striga looks over her shoulder, casting Morana a look and a nod of consent.</p>
<p>Striga is smiling to herself as she tries to sense what Morana is up to, feeling the smaller woman climbing up onto the bed, her knees making the mattress sink and making Striga's body lilt from side to side. Morana's thighs come to straddle her hips and she lets Striga take all of her weight, which might as well be nothing at all as far as Striga cares. Then she feels Morana's talons dragging lazily down her back and she cares a whole hell of a lot. Striga vibrates with a contented groan, more like a primal rumble and she unconsciously presses her face into the pillow beneath her to try and muffle the sound.</p>
<p>"Does that feel good?" Morana asks with a giggle, a sound that grows in delight and volume when the only response is a languid moan. "I had a feeling it would."</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana scratches from top to bottom until red marks start appearing, waiting for them to mend before switching to kneading hands. More contented rumbles and purrs shake her from beneath, and all the while Morana simply takes it in with a smug smile. She would massage from top to bottom, Striga's scalp, her broad shoulders and powerful back, her thighs and calves, and then back up, where Morana sprawls comfortably along the length of her lover's body when she feels finished. The body beneath her expands and contracts with a deep breath, and for a time it's so quiet.</span>
</p>
<p>Morana lifts her head at muffled sounds from somewhere. "What's that, love?"</p>
<p>Striga shifts, finally pulling her face out of the pillow. "I had intended for tonight to be about you."</p>
<p>
  <span> "As did I, that is, to be for </span>
  <em>you</em>
  <span>." She's still smiling and presses a kiss to Striga's back, the big muscle twitching. "Suppose we both accomplished our goals?"</span>
</p>
<p>"Hmm."</p>
<p>"Thank you for letting me touch you, and I hope I didn't overstep."</p>
<p>
  <span> "Not at all, and I know it makes you happy. Besides, that felt </span>
  <em>very good</em>
  <span>."</span>
</p>
<p>"Happy to hear it." another kiss, another twitch of the muscle. "You really do have a beautiful body, my love. I could touch you for hours."</p>
<p>Striga didn't doubt her one bit. "Surely there must be something about me that displeases you,"</p>
<p>"Aside from your inability to let me work passed sunrise in peace?" they both laugh a little. "Hmm," she thinks, shifting so she can draw little circles on Striga's shoulder blade with her talon. "You have a flat ass." she answers plainly.</p>
<p>
  <span> "</span>
  <em>Oof</em>
  <span>," the groan morphs into laughter. "Vicious as always, my lady. I cry your deepest pardon, but suppose all those years riding cavalry took it's toll?"</span>
</p>
<p>Now Morana laughs, something that turns into a full body thing as she covers her mouth.</p>
<p>Striga tries to turn her head and see the state of her, just shy of able. "What's so funny?"</p>
<p>"You have saddle ass," and Morana can just get the words out before beginning to laugh loudly, her mouth open and fangs gleaming. She tries to rein it in when it seems as though Striga didn't find it so amusing, but then she feels the rhythmic bouncing of the body beneath her as Striga tries to hold it in. When she releases the laughter this time, Striga joins Morana's with her own.</p>
<p>Striga abruptly turns over, unceremoniously tossing Morana onto the bed with a surprised yelp that only seems to make them both laugh harder -Morana is even starting to tear a little. Striga pounces, going for the throat to playfully growl and nip at her, and anything else she can think of to keep her lover making those heavenly sounds.</p>
<p>Their playful tumbling about the sheets morphs into spirited, intense lovemaking, Morana leaving deep claw marks in Striga's headboard. Striga doesn't mind them at all, in fact she finds them terribly charming, and she refuses to let Morana feel embarrassed about them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>(--)</em>
</p>
<p>Something pulls Morana out of an otherwise deep, untroubled sleep. It wasn't anything external, not a stray sound or a sudden discomfort in her body over the way she lay, but a feeling. Something deep down in her subconscious seemed to gnaw until she woke. And it wasn't a sudden waking, it felt mostly typical, coming out of the haze with a stretch and a yawn that she keeps quiet behind her hand. She blinks to bring the shades of gray of her chambers into focus, and even after it does, her brow is low and furrowed with that nagging feeling's refusal to dissipate. She thinks to lie back down, willing to try to go back to sleep in spite of it, but not before shifting around. There's a need to check the other side of the bed, make sure all is well first.</p>
<p>It takes no time at all for her to realize that Striga is not where she should be, but she is still in the room. Morana sees her lover perched on the edge of the bed, presumably awake as she appears to just sit there.</p>
<p>
  <span> "Striga?" she can see that broad back tensing, shoulders inching in a tight jerk, and it troubles her. "Is everything all right?" when no answer comes, Morana slips out from beneath the covers to walk around to the other side of the bed.</span>
</p>
<p>Striga's eyes are immediately on her once she's in view, and Morana can see they're wide and lost looking. The way Striga tracks her movements seems unnaturally suspicious, like she's waiting for a sign to cut and run, and when Morana finds the notion in Striga's eye shine, she stops where she is.</p>
<p>"What's wrong, love?"</p>
<p>Striga just stares back silently, her expression looking to try and cast several different things at once. In the end she just looks confused.</p>
<p>"Was it a nightmare?"</p>
<p>Striga stares at her a few seconds longer, then blinks with something like realization before putting her face in her hands again. This time she rubs roughly with her palms, her fingers pressing her eyes as she groans a little. "Y-yes, yes, a dream. It was...it was a dream."</p>
<p>Morana is still visibly concerned, the look now laced with a certain understanding. Some of the discomfort has ebbed now and she feels fit to move closer, but still does so with caution. Morana comes to sit beside her, a hand reaching out to take up tentative residence atop Striga's thigh. She finds a little comfort when Striga covers her hand with one of her own, the other still pressed to her face.</p>
<p>"Do you wish to talk about it?"</p>
<p>"I," Striga starts and stops, tries several times before finally "I forgot."</p>
<p>Morana's brow furrows. "It's all right, dreams can be fleeting at times, especially troubling ones."</p>
<p>"No, that <em>was</em> the dream." Striga's voice is hard but unsteady. "<em>I had forgotten</em>. It...it was like none of this had ever happened. I was back at the outpost, I <em>knew</em> I was supposed to be elsewhere but...I couldn't remember." She remembers the dream too clearly, remembers a frantic notion of herself seeking out faces she knew to ask <em>them</em> if they knew where she was meant to be. None of them understood what she was asking, not even Welsh.</p>
<p>Morana squeezes her hand, mind buzzing in search of the right thing to say.</p>
<p>"I awoke and...that feeling remained. I didn't know where I was, this room or this bed, and for a moment...I didn't know you."</p>
<p>Morana's eyes widen, her expression lengthening with a unique sort of dread, and her mind blanks.</p>
<p>The silence stretches between them, the distance yawning and impossible. Until Striga finally lifts her head from her hand and looks at Morana again. She looks shaken, on the verge of breaking, it's something Morana has never seen on her before and it is uniquely unsettling.</p>
<p>"But you're all right now, aren't you?"</p>
<p>"I wouldn't say I'm all right," Striga scoffs, feigning a pitiful smirk for all of a second. "But...I recognize you now, yes."</p>
<p>Morana can't take her eyes off of her, and her gaze is pleading. "Can I do anything for you?"</p>
<p>"...Hold me."</p>
<p>Morana readily agrees and encourages Striga back into bed as gently as she knows how. Morana props herself up on her pillows, half sitting, and pulls Striga tight to her side, not at all surprised or bothered when those big arms circle her tightly and pull her in as well. Hard to tell who is holding who by the time they settle down, but it didn't much matter. Morana kisses Striga's head and strokes her hair, hoping it helps to soothe her somehow.</p>
<p>"What if I forget again and it doesn't come back?" Striga says suddenly, but softly. Her throat is tight and it's audible. "What about us?"</p>
<p>Morana stops herself from answering immediately, even though she knows what she wants to say to that. Reflexively she wants to be encouraging, reassuring, but she tempers that with the knowledge that this is <em>clearly</em> a very real concern for Striga. Knee-jerk platitudes aren't good enough, and Striga certainly deserves better.</p>
<p>"Should that come to pass," she begins carefully, "perhaps...we could try again."</p>
<p>"You mean try to find our way back together? You would shoulder such a labor twice?"</p>
<p>Part of Morana doesn't like how cynical she sounds, but it's a little thing that she quickly smothers. After all, how many times had this happened before? How many lifetimes had Striga lived only to lose it all in an instant and never regain?</p>
<p>"Falling in love with you has been the farthest thing from labor, Striga, and I would undertake it a hundred times over if it meant keeping you by my side. Never mind that you would still be my sister and friend, and I would never forsake you."</p>
<p>Striga's arms tighten a little further, her big hands curling into the soft fabric of Morana's nightgown.</p>
<p>
  <em> She wants to keep me.</em>
</p>
<p>Something about that struck a chord, though she isn't entirely sure as to why or how, and it resonates through her in a way nothing ever has. And it isn't just that, it is numerous things over the course of these few months, even before their courtship, that Striga suddenly realizes have been Morana's way of telling her as much. It's something Striga has acknowledged for a while now, a number of weeks, but only now does it really take. Now it feels real. Her heart clutches hard, steals her breath, and she tucks tighter against Morana. And with that comes a jarring, monumental realization.</p>
<p>
  <em>I want to stay.</em>
</p>
<p>"...I love you." Striga exhales in a curt, sudden breath, hardly able to hear her own voice.</p>
<p>Morana shifts so slightly, barely moving save for tucking her chin. "What's that?"</p>
<p>Striga swallows and tries again. "I love you." Though she wishes she didn't have to feel the terror of saying it out loud. Because it is terrifying; Striga allowed herself to get attached, pursued it even, and now she has spoken it into the world. And yes, she distinctly remembers her promise to Morana -to stay, to remain, to always be near- but this...mercy this is different and it's rattling and, again, it's frighteningly <em>real</em>.</p>
<p>Striga reflexively tenses a little at the feeling of Morana's hands shaping around her face, but she relaxes easily, just in time to feel the little force beneath her lady's fingers that encourages her to look up. She finds a painfully soft patience in her lover's face, her eyes set in adoration that's only amplified by the eye shine. Morana gently smooths Striga's hair over her ear with the pads of her fingers, tracing the sharp angle of Striga's jaw with the soft bend of her knuckle and letting it perch under her chin. Then, for a few seconds, Morana smiles wide enough to show teeth, her expression somehow becoming impossibly softer, and she gives Striga the most gentle, reverent kiss they had likely ever shared. It wasn't something to chase after, it was a blessing to accept.</p>
<p>Morana whispers, touching their foreheads together, "And I love you."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>(--)</em>
</p>
<p>Their bond has changed again, and they both feel it, just as before. But this time it as an obvious, mutual understanding that they have yet to speak of but seem to comprehend. They feel no pressure to discuss it, though the shift is tangible, but there is a certain comfort in it that they readily take and bask in whenever they are together. Morana seems, in a way, lighter, more liberal with her smiles and laughter -as if she hadn't been before. Whereas Striga is visibly more relaxed in the general sense. Some of the things that often warranted an indignant growl and roll of her eyes now seem to just roll off her back in comparison. She still complains about dance lessons, but attends them all the same and makes the usual, obvious effort.</p>
<p>Their sisters see it too, and are surprisingly kind enough to let them be for now.</p>
<p>Tomorrow is the eve of the new year, and tonight is the final night for any preparations that have yet to be made, to make sure everything is in order. Which, as it stands at present, everything certainly seems to be, provided this last dance lesson goes well.</p>
<p>
  <span> Striga is dancing with Lenore tonight, keeping time with her smaller sister's gentle humming of a simple tune, under the insistence that she get experience with a significantly shorter partner. Not simply because Striga was likely to be the tallest in attendance tomorrow night, but one of the guests -Lord Babenburg from Vienna- was supposedly bringing his young daughter to the formal, and all of the sisters needed to be ready and able to dance with her.</span>
</p>
<p>"Remind me why this lord matters again?" Striga asks, dancing seemingly as thoughtless as breathing once was. And Lenore is effortless to lead.</p>
<p>"His family has ruled the central region of the country for centuries, and he is kin to the archbishop." Morana relays, watching with a naked fondness. "You could consider him the archbishop's left hand, doing much of the...less savory work that would harm his family's -and thus the archbishop's reputation and such, were he of a higher position."</p>
<p>"I see." Striga nods once. "Though I must ask, do our guests actually know what we are? Are they at all aware the sort of hosts that await them?"</p>
<p>"Some, but not all of them. Babenburg does and, frankly, he's the only one that matters."</p>
<p>"How so?"</p>
<p>"He has direct connections to the archbishop, which is our chiefest concern. I was all but obligated to extend an invitation to him, as doing otherwise would no doubt raise suspicion as to our intentions, and if anyone who matters would believe him that there were four vampire women now ruling Styria and stood to become a threat, it would be the archbishop."</p>
<p>"The king had operated with the understanding that so long as his expansions did not directly endanger the security of the country, he would not be in any danger of the empire and could do as he pleased." Carmilla adds. "They know what we are, what we're capable of, but they also have the resources to wipe us off the map at a moment's notice. Babenburg's presence is mostly a formality, to assure him and the archbishop that the understanding remains and will be observed as always."</p>
<p>"Couldn't we just kill them all?" Striga suggests flippantly. "Yes, there would surely be chaos for months, but,"</p>
<p>
  <span> "That's what </span>
  <em>I</em>
  <span> said." Lenore pauses her humming long enough to admit. "It would be so easy to make it look like they never even made it to the palace."</span>
</p>
<p>"Indeed."</p>
<p>Carmilla and Morana are both laughing, because both of them had thought very similar things before. "Perhaps next year." Carmilla entertains, and no one else in the room is certain of just how serious she is.</p>
<p>But that is where the conversation dies, and soon enough the lesson concludes with the sisters sharing a mutual satisfaction. Lenore and Carmilla excuse themselves to their own business, leaving Striga and Morana to linger a little longer.</p>
<p>"Suppose you have your training with Taubert?" Morana asks, certain they are alone.</p>
<p>"I have given myself the rest of the night off." Striga smiles to her lover, reaching out as Morana steps towards her. "Is there business for <em>you</em>, my lady?"</p>
<p>Morana takes her hand, lets herself be pulled in to straighten against Striga's front. "Not that I can recall. Have you made any plans then, seeing as you are not otherwise occupied?"</p>
<p>Striga lifts Morana's hand to her lips for a brief kiss. "Will you walk the grounds with me?"</p>
<p>Morana's expression quirks, curious. "An unusual request, but certainly not so unusual that I would turn it down."</p>
<p>Striga's responding smile is all teeth and she kisses Morana's hand again.</p>
<p>
  <span> The winter cold is positively bitter, but to vampires it is nothing. The pair had taken the closest exit, which led them to one of the rampart walls, giving them an exceptional view of the grounds as well as the surrounding peaks, all capped in white and shimmering in moonlight. The path has been swept clean, but evidence of the heavy snowfall throughout the day remains in corners and along the top of the walls and about the courtyard below. For a spell they simply walk together, silent, arm in arm, occasionally looking at each other only to smile and look away as if they're suddenly shy.</span>
</p>
<p>"Did it snow much in the Levant?" Striga asks.</p>
<p>
  <span> "Not where I grew up, no. But I visited other regions of the caliphate where it snowed occasionally. Not like it snows here, though. My first winter in Styria had been </span>
  <em>quite</em>
  <span> something, I was convinced it </span>
  <em>had</em>
  <span> to be some sort of storm to make it snow so much so quickly."</span>
</p>
<p>"Hmm." Striga nods.</p>
<p>"You do not sound so impressed." Morana laughs.</p>
<p>"Winters were terrible when I was a child. Villages were closed off from one another for days at a time, sometimes longer. Snow piled so high some folks couldn't even leave their homes, or the livestock got trapped in the pasture, wouldn't be found until it thawed."</p>
<p>"Goodness."</p>
<p>"It had a certain prettiness to it, though, I think. As it does here." She glances at Morana, taking her in briefly. Quiet starts to stretch between them again, until Striga shrugs. "I have to admit, I'm nervous about tomorrow night."</p>
<p>"Understandable." Morana says without hesitation, without judgment. "You'll be outside your element, and I know you hate small talk, as there is sure to be quite a lot of it."</p>
<p>"Indeed."</p>
<p>"But I have faith in you." Morana looks up at Striga, catching her uncertain eyes with a soft reassurance in her own. "You danced beautifully tonight, by the way."</p>
<p>Striga feels a phantom heat in her face, cheeks flushing with a small charge of static in her skin. "You're a wonderful teacher."</p>
<p>"But you made the effort and, as with everything, you soundly succeeded."</p>
<p>Striga chuckles, a velvety sound. "I love you."</p>
<p>Morana tucks closer to her, her head resting against the round of Striga's shoulder. "And I love you."</p>
<p>
  <span> They're acknowledging the change again, the recently discovered nuances to their feelings and the nature of their courtship. It still sounded so new -</span>
  <em>I love you</em>
  <span>- but it didn't feel that way. Having given it plenty of thought, Striga realized the notion had been going between them for weeks now, non-verbally, through actions and gestures that had never occurred to her before. It reminded her of what Welsh had said, how people can love one another in countless ways. She realized that Morana didn't just care about her, Morana cared </span>
  <em>for her</em>
  <span>, doing anything at every opportunity to comfort her or see to whatever need Striga might have. Morana's attention, her softness, her patience; she had given them all happily, in the name of her helpless, boundless love. Striga almost felt ashamed to have made her wait so long to hear it from her, and stupid for not having seen it all sooner. But seeing all those things as love -in any context- was like trying to read letters in a language she didn't know. Which is painfully accurate in her case.</span>
</p>
<p>But Morana had understood why Striga waited, when she felt the need to explain herself, and her good lady had even seemed grateful.</p>
<p>
  <em>"I would have waited forever if it meant hearing the truth."</em>
</p>
<p>But the idea that Morana was willing to waste her immortality in such a way was uniquely disheartening. Striga wholly believed she deserved better, and sought to give her that.</p>
<p>
  <em>"And I knew it was the truth. You've shown me you love me more than you've said as much, though it is still nice to hear."</em>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Is being known, more so </span>
  <em>understood</em>
  <span>, a form of love as well? If so, Striga could lose herself in the sheer volume of Morana's. She finds herself fretting over whether or not she could even begin to return such deep affection, if it was even possible. Even for a vampire with forever ahead of them, was that enough time to-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Striga is wrenched from her deep contemplation by a soft but substantial impact against her face. It's enough to turn her head and halt her steps, and the rush of frigid wetness shocking her senses brings her attention back to center with all the care and gentility of a slamming door. Then she realizes Morana is no longer hanging from her arm, in fact she can't readily see her at her side, leaving her hand free to touch her own face and feel the lingering clumps of snow on her cheek and in her hair. She turns further, now able to look back the way they came, and there's Morana some half a dozen paces away, her lips tucked between her teeth in a futile attempt to hide a wicked smile and with a hefty scoop of snow cradled in both hands.</span>
</p>
<p>Striga cocks up one eyebrow in congress with a corner of her mouth, one fang catching moonlight as her eyes glint with something both daring and playful. Then a handful of snow smacks directly between her eyes and the game is on. Striga wipes the snow from her face in time to see Morana jump the wall, following her immediately with the widest, sharpest smile and one big hand full of snow. Drifts of white scatter wildly in the air at her heavy impact into the courtyard below, half exposing the mosaic of flagstones.</p>
<p>Morana felt the movement of the air coming up behind her, certain Striga was giving chase. Just as she hoped. If she didn't make a habit of wearing boots and trousers when giving dance lessons -for the sake of keeping her feet visible and easier to give direction- Morana wouldn't have entertained the idea of this, but, in the moment, she is absolutely thrilled that she had.</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana stops and turns, boots sliding just a little with her momentum, and she is just able to lilt her head out of the way as a snowball whistles by. Just as easily she will evade two more, significantly larger ones, and laughs when Striga pushes off to run her down. Morana doesn't move too quickly -this is a game, after all- and she backpedals with half-certain steps, her bottom lip between her teeth in anticipation as Striga comes swiftly closer. Her supernatural reflexes are more than enough to keep just out of Striga's path, the larger vampire rushing by in a shadowy blur, and more than enough to catch another blur of white coming towards her. Morana moves with its direction and momentum, cupping her hand around with just enough force to change its course and send it back. She has to guess where Striga is, but it's a good guess, and the snowball strikes her soundly in the chest with a loud </span>
  <em>pop</em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Striga is laughing. Her heart is a steady thunder in her ribs and heat is gathering in her body enough to warm her breath, which she can now see as a mist with every exhale. She sees the challenge in Morana's eyes and it thrills her, it brings </span>
  <em>something</em>
  <span> out of her that she isn't sure she has felt before, but it's </span>
  <em>incredible</em>
  <span>. She's still grinning ear to ear as she reaches down to gather more snow off the ground, rolling it in her big hands. She can see that Morana is watching her, eyes keen and pupils wide, </span>
  <em>excited</em>
  <span>, and her taloned fingers flex at her sides.</span>
</p>
<p>Striga hurls the compacted snow in her hands and doesn't bother lingering to see if it lands, because a part of her knows it won't, as she blinks out of sight for an instant and moves to position herself on the far side of Morana where she readies another snowball and throws it. Several times she flickers in and out of view, and several times Morana remains where she is, merely shifting her body this way and that to remain untouched. It's partly Striga's own fault as her enthusiastic laughter gives away where she is, but she isn't about to ruin their fun by pointing that out. Occasionally she snatches a snowball out of mid air to send back, not intentionally aiming for Striga, exactly, but still having a good laugh when it hits. The look of surprise on her lover's face is priceless.</p>
<p>Morana won't move from her spot until Striga blinks out of sight one last time, reappearing but a few lengths away as she plants her feet and slides in the snow towards her. It kicks up a substantial drift of white that comes barreling towards Morana like a wave. It's nothing at all to push off the ground, up and over, vaulting from Striga's shoulder with one hand to land nimbly on the other side of her. Striga whips around, meeting Morana's smug grin with fanged determination, and then she's pushing off again after Morana puts a hand to her mouth to blow Striga a taunting, but still loving kiss.</p>
<p>
  <span> They chase each other about the courtyard, leaving swaths of scattered snow in their wake, and along the ramparts with their laughter echoing off the tall stone walls. Morana is always </span>
  <em>just</em>
  <span> out of reach, just </span>
  <em>one</em>
  <span> step ahead, however Striga doesn't appear to care, seeming to enjoy the chasing just as much as the prospect of catching her. Striga tries one last snowball, the wind whistling when she releases it in Morana's direction; there is zero surprise or disappointment to be found when it misses, Morana having leaped straight up at the end of the rampart. Striga watches in amused wonder as her lover scales the wall, shaking her head as she gives chase once more.</span>
</p>
<p>Both of them flicker in and out of sight, latching onto balconies and outcroppings in their steady ascent. Morana happens to land on Carmilla's balcony, barely there a second, but long enough to look over her shoulder and give a surprised shriek before vanishing again, Striga pouncing in the next instant with enough force to rattle the framework of the glass doors. Though both of them are long since gone when Carmilla steps out to swear after them.</p>
<p>Their game takes them to one of the rooftops where they seem to dance around each other much like they had in the courtyard below. Morana grips the edge and swings herself below, onto the platform of their favorite tower, only to leap out the other side as Striga tries to cut her off, those big arms wrapping around nothing but air. Morana thinks she's lost her now, looking over her shoulder and seeing nothing but a vacant platform, and decides to try and make her way back to her chambers. Part of her feels like she'll win this...whatever this is if she can get there first.</p>
<p>From the roof above her balcony, Morana gives one last scanning look around, suddenly soberly curious as to where her lover could be if not nearby. She gingerly jumps down, landing with nary a sound or a disturbance to the light dusting of white beneath her feet. Her head still on a swivel, she goes to open the doors.</p>
<p>The hinges give the smallest squeal in protest, and it's enough sound to cover up the dull rush of air just behind her.</p>
<p>Striga had somehow perched beneath the foundation of the balcony only seconds before Morana touched down. Her timing is wholly instinctive, a sound judgment all the same, and she swings herself up just as the hinges on the doors protest. There's enough momentum behind the motion to send her soaring inside, her feet touching ground and skidding to a halt as her big arms snap around her good lady, trapping her arms at her sides as Striga lifts her off the ground. Morana shrieks with laughter, legs mindlessly kicking as she is lifted up.</p>
<p>They're both giggling like mad when Striga sets her down, keeping her arms around Morana, but not so tightly that she cannot turn around and hug Striga about the neck.</p>
<p>"That was amazing!" Morana pants against Striga's shoulder, planting a quick kiss against her cheek right after. "You were such a good sport, my love."</p>
<p>"I didn't have the heart to spoil your fun." Especially since Morana looked absolutely elegant through it all, and her laughter was so bright it would surely shame God. "Granted, I was having fun as well, so,"</p>
<p>
  <span> "Don't be so modest." Morana swats the broad of Striga's chest playfully. "I don't think I've </span>
  <em>ever</em>
  <span> seen you smile like that."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>There are so many things I had never done before you. And so many things I have since you came into my life.</em>
  <span> Striga muses to herself as Morana draws away, saying something about making arrangements for food and drink. She takes her eyes off Morana long enough to push the doors to the balcony shut, but then all of Striga's attention is back on her. Before she realizes what she's doing, Striga has her arms around Morana again, back to front, simply because it's where she wishes the most to be.</span>
</p>
<p>"Is everything all right?" Morana asks softly, unworried.</p>
<p>"Hmm." Striga gives a gentle squeeze, a kiss to the point of her ear. "Just thinking."</p>
<p>"About what?"</p>
<p>She hums again. "I'm just reminded of a story, of Welsh being foolish."</p>
<p>Morana is twisting in her arms, one brow cocked up. "Our romp in the snow reminded you of this?"</p>
<p>"Yes, because it happened in the dead of winter."</p>
<p>"I hope you mean to tell me."</p>
<p>"Yes, over dinner."</p>
<p>Morana feigns a pout. "If you insist. I certainly hope it's worth the wait."</p>
<p>"I think you'll appreciate it." she gives Morana a comfortable, confident smile and a kiss. "It's the events leading up to Welsh proposing to her wife."</p>
<p>
  <span> "Oh, now I </span>
  <em>must</em>
  <span> hear it."</span>
</p>
<p>"And you will." one more kiss on the lips to seal the little promise.</p>
<p>Striga is true to her word, as she always has been, and began to regale Morana of a winter little more than a decade ago once their dinner had arrived.</p>
<p>
  <span> She makes a point to describe how cold it had been, unusually so, as it was supposedly pivotal to the story. She goes on to set the stage, saying how it had been a few months since Welsh and her company had taken Sameena in, the whole pack taking a mutual care of her as is their nature. But even for all that, the Witch's chiefest complaint was the cold. No amount of blankets or extra layers of clothing or hot tea seemed to keep her warm enough. That's when Welsh got the idea to essentially vanish from the outpost for a number of days in search of the "</span>
  <em>biggest, meanest, fattest fuckin' shit kicker of a bear</em>
  <span>" to make a coat for Sameena, with the hopes of not only seeing to her needs with the gift, but to woo her as well.</span>
</p>
<p>According to Striga, Welsh would go unseen and unheard from for nearly a week, and there was heavy snowfall for most of those nights. When she had finally returned, there were chest-high drifts in some places and it was knee-high everywhere else, and she doggedly dragged herself -naked and filthy and ripped to shreds- back into the outpost with a carcass close behind. And it looked like the biggest, meanest, fattest fucking shit kicker of a bear that most any of them had ever seen.</p>
<p>
  <span> "Just how big </span>
  <em>was</em>
  <span> it, do you suppose?" Morana has to ask, and her need to know is plain in her tone.</span>
</p>
<p>"Twice my size at least." she nods, seeing Morana's eyes go wide. "And I've never seen one that size since."</p>
<p>"My god,"</p>
<p>Striga nods again. "But I doubt it would have taken her so long to come back if killing it was all she had set out to do. She took care to keep the hide intact, so she had to break its jaw. In any case, she cleaned and tanned the hide all by herself, and I don't think she wore a stitch the whole time."</p>
<p>"So she just went about naked for two weeks? In the middle of winter?"</p>
<p>"Basically." Striga chuckles. "It was almost as if she was in a trance; wouldn't speak to anyone, barely ate, just did her work until it was done and then...she was, more or less, herself again."</p>
<p>
  <span> Morana makes a curious face. "...What </span>
  <em>is</em>
  <span> Welsh, exactly? Because she doesn't </span>
  <em>sound</em>
  <span> human,"</span>
</p>
<p>Striga chuckles, finishing the last of her glass of blood. "I'm afraid that's not for me to tell."</p>
<p>"Then I must meet her in person so I might ask her myself."</p>
<p>
  <span> "We shall see." </span>
  <em>I'll invite her to the wedding.</em>
</p>
<p>Striga takes pause, like her mind jerked to a stop and everything else with it.</p>
<p>
  <span> What was that? That thought that just slipped in like it was nothing? Like it </span>
  <em>belonged</em>
  <span>? And whose wedding? Surely not...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh</em>
  <span>. </span>
  <em>Well then.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Striga doesn't know what to make of it at present, isn't sure how she feels, but she doesn't outright dismiss it. It doesn't feel </span>
  <em>wrong</em>
  <span>, that much she is certain of, so she pushes it back across her mind where it can be weighed later for whatever meaning it holds. But, even as she continues with what little remains of the story, Striga finds herself going back to it, finds herself seeing Morana a little differently.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Author's Note:</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> Next chapter is the new years formal and some other things, and depending on how that chapter turns out in actual construction, there will be an epilogue. Maybe three chapters total, but most likely two. Anyway, thanks to everyone for all the comments and support, you're the best. No telling when the next chapter will launch as I'm still taking a break to let my batteries recharge, but I'm getting to it all the same.</span>
  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Also, just in case anyone is paying that close attention, waltzing wouldn't be around in Europe for another 100+ years, but it seems like vampires in Castlevania have a serious head start on technology and -possibly- the arts, so I suppose it wouldn't be too much of a stretch for the sake of this story. Just assuming they're learning to waltz.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Chapter Twenty-Six</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She would feel more comfortable preparing for battle. Her hands would not shake, she would not be fussing so much to make sure her finely tailored formal wear was laying properly, and she sure as hell would not be so fucking worried about how anything she did tonight might go horribly wrong. There was a certain serenity that comes in readying oneself for war, and there is no trace of it here.</p><p>Striga shrugs hard for perhaps the twentieth time, her hands absently tugging on sleeves and hems and her collar that, to Lorenzo's credit, fit perfectly to her specific request. The entirety of her outfit is painfully lavish, even luxurious in its softness, but just how well it <em>suited</em> her was a welcome surprise. The general style is reminiscent of Slavic nobility, at least what she had come to recognize as such throughout her life since she left home, yet still unique in a way that Striga can't formulate words to describe -like it both is and <em>isn't</em> what it appears. The long tunic is a rich and dark gray, like unpolished steel, and the trim around the collar, sleeves, and down the front along the seams is silvery satin. It fits her strangely well, with no suggestion of snugness in the shoulders or the chest as she expected there to be. The trousers are roomy and impossibly black, like the boots that reach her knees and cast an almost mirror-like polish beneath the lightning glass. They perfectly match the shoulder cape, so dark that her own hair stands out as a lighter shade, that adorns her right shoulder in a host of glistening raven feathers. A silver medallion and several stretches of delicate looking silver chains anchor the narrow strap of leather that crosses her chest and tucks beneath her left arm, the buckles just as polished. Those coupled with the silver trim along the bottom edge served to draw the visual narrative of the outfit together, which would be subsequently broken up by the bright scarlet, silken sash that is masterfully cinched about her broad waist.</p><p>It is easily the finest, likely most expensive thing she has ever worn outside of full plate armor, and she isn't entirely sure how she feels about it. Her stomach clenches at the thought of how much something like this must have cost.</p><p>Finally accepting that there is simply no more fussing she can do about any of this, Striga nods her head once and leaves her chambers. Surely Morana was ready by now, likely waiting for her, and she didn't wish to keep her lady waiting any longer than necessary. That, and she knows Morana's presence would ground her, and that's how she explains her apparent rush.</p><p> </p><p>Striga knocks -even though Morana has told her a number of times now that she doesn't have to -<em>"Until such time as we come to share our chambers, I will always knock first"</em>- and doesn't waste but a second before stepping inside once she hears her good lady's consent.</p><p>"Perfect timing."</p><p>The words come softly, sincerely, and like a compliment it makes Striga smile and tuck her chin as if to hide the little heat in her face.</p><p>"Would you help me put this on?"</p><p>Striga's head immediately tips up, and she finds herself pausing again -just for a second- as she takes in Morana's appearance. If she still needed to breathe, she surely wouldn't be able to.</p><p>She stands at her desk, the unfolding, hinged box likely containing her various cosmetics open before her. Morana's dress resembles frosted quicksilver in texture and color, and looks like it was poured over her. It fits like a second skin and shimmers in the light with the slightest movement, beckoning the predatory instinct of Striga's gaze. Then Striga starts to track the flashes of color hidden amongst the silver, pearlescent white embroidery that traces upward from the hem at Morana's feet in delicate looking feather patterns, and each topped with a similarly woven, distinctive eye of a peacock's feather -lustrous brown and blue and green. Her eyes drift naturally upward to take in the rest of her, and Striga silently marvels at how the dress stays up in spite of how free Morana's shoulders are of any fabric, and are instead framed by a lush spread of immaculate white fur that circles the entirely of her bust and upper arms. Somehow that makes Striga want to look at her even more, if that was even possible.</p><p>"You like the dress?" Morana chuckles softly, still waiting for a response to her first question.</p><p>"I like the dress <em>on you</em>, yes." Striga's smile is easy and shameless, and she feels her pulse picking up. "It is rather exceptional, Lorenzo does fine work."</p><p>"I designed this, actually." Morana lilts her head with a grin. "Yours as well. I cannot sew a stitch, but I have a certain eye for these things."</p><p>"Indeed you do." Striga doesn't try to hide her surprise, sensing Morana appreciates her reaction. She finally crosses the floor and closes the distance between them. A hand slinks about Morana's waist, Striga resisting the urge to purr at the almost liquid texture of Morana's dress beneath her hand. They share the briefest, almost chaste kiss. "I'm sorry, did you ask something of me?"</p><p>"Yes." Morana laughs again. "Would you fasten this for me? I'm afraid my talons make it rather difficult."</p><p>"Of course."</p><p>Morana turns her back to Striga, pulling a collection of tiered strings of pearls across her throat and holding back the clasp for her lover to take. Her talons are painted blue to match her mascara, just as the pearls at her throat match the ones circling her wrists. With no small amount of enjoyment, Striga pulls aside the waves of Morana's hair, laying them carefully over her shoulder and taking in the delightful image of Morana's bare neck. It's simple work to put the hook and loop together, even with such big, rough hands, and when it's done Striga makes no hurry towards pulling Morana's hair back again.</p><p>"Thank you, my love." Morana says softly, touching Striga's hand on her shoulder with her own.</p><p>"My pleasure." Striga kisses the top of her head, a brief breath given to draw in the faint scent of jasmine.</p><p>Morana turns to face her, her expression soft and sympathetic. She sees Striga's eyes moving over her again, giving her a moment to appreciate the adornment about her neck before asking "Are you still feeling nervous?"</p><p>Striga takes a beat to appreciate how everything fits together on her, the teardrop shaped pendant dangling from the lowest tier of pearls mimicking the shape of her silvery earrings, mimicking the color of them that are reminiscent of peacock feathers. "I am. As you said, this sort of thing is decidedly outside my...arena, so to speak."</p><p>Morana nods once, taking one of Striga's hands in both of hers to bring up and kiss her fingers.</p><p>"But I suppose...you will be there. I will manage."</p><p>An edged smirk. "Though you understand that I will likely have to dance with others tonight? Not just you,"</p><p>"I have considered it, though I must admit I do not approve of the concept, doubly so in regards to myself."</p><p>"Are you the jealous sort?"</p><p>"Hard to say, then again, I doubt I have any <em>real</em> competition." Striga tries an easy grin, unsure if it lands like she means it to. "Still, a kiss here and there should be enough to keep me."</p><p>"Then we should share them now." Morana sounds reluctant. "Open displays of affection aren't exactly...proper in these circumstances."</p><p>Striga openly scowls, grumbles something Morana doesn't quite catch, but can clearly suss out her disapproval.</p><p>"It's only a few hours." Morana assures her gently, now taking that big hand and smoothing it over her own cheek. "And then, after midnight, we will have most of the night to ourselves. And I mean for us to spend it <em>together</em>."</p><p>The harshness in Striga's face softens a little, her brow still noticeably pinched in the middle. "Good." she growls low and in the chest.</p><p>"And," Morana lilts her head, a certain suggestion in her voice, "I wonder if you would...circumstances being agreeable... allow me to <em>lead</em> tonight?"</p><p>Striga blinks back at her, the last of the hard lines in her face relaxing so she can now telegraph her interest and surprise. She contemplates for a moment, seeming to search Morana's face for any intent she might not sense in her words. "I could certainly entertain the idea." and the fanged smile Morana cuts makes her pulse jump.</p><p>"Would you be willing to give me the chance to...influence your decision?"</p><p>One brow drops, sable suspicion. "And how do you intend to do that, I wonder?"</p><p>"You'll see." her tone is soft, velvety and rich. "You're brilliant like that."</p><p>"A surprise, eh? Well," there's a streak of trepidation, uncertainty to rival that of their impending formal arrangement, but it lasts only so long. She trusts Morana. "Consider me intrigued."</p><p>Morana's smile widens and her eyes flash with sharp excitement as her lip tucks between her teeth to muffle a giggle. "Excellent. Now let us finish up, wouldn't want to be late."</p><p>It takes longer than they intend to, but they don't seem to care all that much. Morana convinces Striga to allow her to do something with her hair -though she loves it free and wild as Striga always wears it, Morana thinks it better to tame it somewhat for the sake of the event. A half tail is more than enough, she thinks, and Striga enjoys the feeling of a comb across her scalp, so it isn't the worst thing. Morana then chances to offer to paint Striga's lips, curious if nothing else, and pleasantly surprised when she agrees.</p><p>"It will accentuate your fangs, remind those mortals what you are and that you should be regarded with a certain respect." She explains as she studiously applies the rich color with a soft brush.</p><p>Striga doesn't question it, just silently accepts Morana's rapt attention to her task. She's never worn cosmetics before, but maybe it was worth it to discover something new, something Morana might like. More and more Striga finds that she does so many things for her sake. Not out of obligation, of course, just simply because she wishes to. And, naturally, her good lady's approving smile is always worth whatever effort she might put forward.</p><p>"Black really is a good color for you." Morana sounds a little surprised to say as much out loud as she takes a step back, getting a full picture of Striga as she is now, lips stained dark. "As much of a color that it can be, anyway." It really did pull everything together, somehow made those green eyes brighter, more intense.</p><p>"Glad you approve. Now, as you said, we best be on."</p><p>Morana nods in agreement, grabbing one last thing, a blue silken sash that she drapes between her arms and across her back much like the shawl she usually wears, the ends embroidered with more peacock feather eyes and adorned in fringe made of strings of crystal beads.</p><p> </p><p>Striga is already bristling at the reality of being essentially trapped in a room full of strangers -snooty nobility to boot- but the idea of being locked in said room for the next number of hours and unable to give Morana proper affection makes her want to bare her teeth in a way that few things ever have before. <em>She is </em>my<em> woman, and this is </em>our<em> home, and I should be able to touch her as I see fit.</em> The notion is viciously possessive, almost makes Striga pause at the raw intensity of it, and she is briefly surprised at herself. Instead she smooths her free hand over Morana's as it curls around her forearm, grounding herself with something soft. Morana smiles up at her, and it's more than enough to push that aggression back down.</p><p>As they walk the halls, Morana takes time to gently remind Striga of numerous things, primarily matters of etiquette, which Striga is more than grateful for as many of them had indeed slipped her mind. She finds a certain relief in being reminded that she can decline to dance with anyone if she pleases, but to do so sparingly -most military types did, though the trend tends to go unnoticed by most- however, if either Lord Babenburg or his daughter extend such a request, she <em>should</em> accept. She goes on to warn Striga of how likely it was that at least one of them would approach her, because of all the sisters, Striga is the only one that had not met either of the Babenburgs before. Striga just nods and grunts in acknowledgment.</p><p>Carmilla and Lenore are waiting for them just outside the ballroom. It was only proper that the Council of Sisters make their entrance together, after all. Lenore seems to light up at the sight of them together, those red irises glistening in a way that's uncanny even for a vampire, like her sisters had just hung the moon. Not that she or Carmilla weren't so finely dressed as well. Lenore's dress is velvety and dyed the richest, darkest green, and an ermine cape adorns her shoulders and is kept in place with a silvery, butterfly shaped pin. Carmilla's dress is much like Morana's in that it fits her <em>very</em> well, but hers is an immaculate, staggering white that catches the light like silk though it isn't. Carmilla's neck is decked in gold chains and gemstones and other sorts of royal finery that matches her bracelets and rings -adornments meant to convey her station to those aware of such silent signals.</p><p>Carmilla now eyes all of her sisters with a keen sort of glee, pure satisfaction. "Excellent. You all look <em>stunning</em>."</p><p>"Naturally." Morana lilts her head with a little smirk. Then she looks up to Striga, "We have an impression to make."</p><p>"Indeed." Striga concurs, though there is still visible uncertainty edging her features.</p><p>"And I have no doubt that we will." Carmilla exhales comfortably.</p><p>"Should I have the attendants announce us then?" Lenore asks, an audible eagerness hidden in the soft casualness of her tone. Carmilla simply nods to her, a gesture she returns before stepping towards the double doors of the ballroom.</p><p>Morana takes these fleeting moments to stand in front Striga, still holding her arm and making certain she has her attention. "I have every confidence in you, my love."</p><p>"Suppose someone should." Striga shrugs quietly.</p><p>"Come now, timidity doesn't suit you." she gingerly squeezes Striga's meaty forearm, a negligible reprimand. "There isn't a soul in that room you couldn't destroy on a whim."</p><p>And as much as that compliment made her nerves buzz, she can't shake the obvious. "But not a soul in there that I <em>should</em>, lest all of this be torn asunder." Because, admittedly, that is what she fears; being the reason that the council, that Styria fails. Because <em>I am a lowborn heathen that cannot hold a candle to the refinement of my sisters and could just as easily ruin all of this with a misused word or by stepping on the wrong person's foot or by not kowtowing to some pompous human or-</em></p><p>"Striga." Morana had seen distance growing in her lover's eyes, but is glad to see her attention snap back at the sound of her voice. "You can't let them think you are uncertain."</p><p>"But I am."</p><p>"Yes, but you must hide it. You are a <em>sister</em>, a <em>general</em>, and they need to believe it. You need to show them why you were chosen."</p><p>Striga shakes her head. "This...I am decidedly unaccustomed to accomplishing that like this."</p><p>"But I know you can. Play off their assumptions if you must, because you know they will have many." she makes a knowing face, one that makes Striga nod and lilt her head. "But, first and foremost, always show your best hand. You are capable of <em>impeccable </em>etiquette, I've seen it with my own eyes, and you can bet most of them will not be expecting <em>that</em> from <em>you</em>."</p><p>"Hmm." Striga considers, then says in her usual, dry way "I would all the same prefer to simply stab one of them."</p><p>"I couldn't agree more." Morana smiles, hearing a certain effort in Striga's voice; she's trying to ground herself and be who Morana wants her to be. "Still, now is the time for <em>gentility</em>, something I <em>know</em> you can manage." Morana takes her lover's hand and lifts those big, solid knuckles to her lips, pressing softly, leaving the faintest outline of color across Striga's pale hand.</p><p>For a moment, a time much too brief, Striga wants nothing more than to sweep Morana off her feet and return to her room, show Morana just how gentle she can be in spite of knowing that wasn't what her good lady meant. But the notion was in those blue eyes all the same and it stirs her nerves with something warm and grounding. Somehow, though the anxiety Striga feels doesn't lessen, she is less attentive to it, which is a sort of progress she supposed. But that comfort starts to steadily dissolve when Morana lets go of her arm before the four of them enter the ballroom. The double doors pulling open is more like a dam breaking and out of it washes a wave of fresh anxiety that Striga willingly -begrudgingly- steps into.</p><p>The ballroom is bright with lightning glass glow and candle light -the latter because their collection of candelabrum and trio of chandeliers above are exceptionally lavish and this was meant to impress people, as well as account for the fact that humans couldn't see nearly as well as their hosts if it had been either light source on its own. Aside from that, the decorations are sparse, minimalist, seeming to concentrate on the long table that stretches along the wall at the far end of the room -but that had been tradition thus far; flowers normally out of season in the region are arranged in colorful, brilliant clusters at the table's center, reds and greens, a grand show of the staff's exceptional botanical abilities. Amidst the arrangements are the modest refreshments, as the guests had been provided with a full meal in their chambers beforehand, and atop the immaculate white tablecloth is the finest selection of wines and spirits from the castle's stores. Music spools out from one end of the room from the just-modest-enough ensemble of musicians. A safe distance away from them is a trio of employed magicians, spinning glamors and scattering lights and performing seemingly supernatural feats for the guests' entertainment. Taubert patrols the room in silent, controlled patterns, all but invisible unless one intentionally sought her out. Quite the trick.</p><p>As the announcement goes out and the council enters, everything steadily stills and all eyes turn to them. For a few frantic seconds Striga wars with the notion to grab hold of Morana, to anchor herself to her, but then she feels the unyielding attention of humans on her and knows that is no longer an option. Instead she tucks her hands behind her back and straightens her spine as much as possible, a very <em>military</em> posture, because it's the best she knows to do.</p><p>Thankfully, the first few moments are taken up by Carmilla delivering an address thanking the guests for their attendance and some other such formal nonsense that Striga won't remember later. It felt like the sort of ass-kissing that was normal for nobility so she doesn't commit too much attention to it. In any case, it gives Striga an opportunity to grow accustomed to the feeling of being here, the buzzing anxiety less of a sore thumb and more like a nagging itch. There is soft applause when the address concludes, and Striga finds more comfort that her sisters aren't quick to disperse. In fact, Morana is immediately back at her side, though she refrains from taking her arm again.</p><p>"I'll stay close while I can." Morana says softly, knowing Striga will hear.</p><p>"The company is appreciated." A quick glace across the room lets Striga spot Carmilla and Lenore both in conversation already, though Lenore appears significantly more comfortable. She's laughing already while Striga swears the Carmilla is doing everything she can not to roll her eyes at the middle-aged, mustachioed man that's snagged her attention. "Any sign of Babenburg?"</p><p>"Not that I have seen, though I imagine it won't be long before he seems to appear out of nowhere. He is surprisingly soft-stepped for a human."</p><p>Striga shrugs softly. "Perhaps we should have a drink then, make it look like we are at least trying to enjoy ourselves."</p><p>Moran smiles to herself. "That's the spirit, love."</p><p> </p><p>Blood helps, Striga finds. It's grounding, a bit of a pick-me-up, and while it doesn't make her hate the setting any less, it helps her tolerate her place in it better. From their place, Morana and Striga watch and converse softly in Slavic about their guests and about assumptions that make Morana giggle as she had shared many of them without the heart to articulate as much aloud.</p><p>What comfort Striga seems to find is brief, however, and evaporates like water on a hot stove when an unfamiliar man approaches them and introduces himself, eventually asking Morana to dance with him. Though there is not physical, visible change in the general's manner or bearing, her heart clenches behind her ribs. Her first instinct is to say something, to turn him down so Morana didn't have to, but Striga is able to resist. Striga simply accepts it with a nod as she concedes to hold Morana's drink, and will remain in that very spot, doing her utmost to look like she is doing anything other than trying to stare holes into that man that had the audacity to take her good lady's attention for himself.</p><p>Otherwise she's scanning the room again, quietly grateful that she hasn't had to talk to anyone yet. Taubert catches her gaze from across the ballroom, the two of them sharing a nod and a similar, visible dislike for such things. She catches the attention of others as she goes, most of them breaking almost immediately under whatever pressure they felt from her, men and women alike -though several women obviously do so in a bashful, far from intimidated way, and Striga isn't entirely sure how to process that idea. Was it because of the lip stain she was wearing? She sips her drink and tries not to give it too much thought.</p><p>Morana eventually returns looking happy and amused, the man dismissing himself with knee-jerk pleasantries and a shallow bow. Striga passes her drink back to her before asking the obvious questions.</p><p>"He's something of a colleague and has a rather charming personal library that I have contributed to on occasion." Morana explains casually, emptying her glass but holding on to it a moment longer. "Did you find some jealousy after all?"</p><p>"Only for your company." Striga confesses plainly, appreciating the warm smile Morana gives her.</p><p>"Has anyone approached you yet?"</p><p>"No, for which I am most grateful." she answers certainly.</p><p>"Hm." Morana lilts her head dismissively. "Their loss."</p><p>Striga's eyes cut to her, brows cocked in a way that suggests a form of puzzlement. It's a look that holds when Morana glances at her, sees the face she's making, and smirks. "What? You are an excellent dance partner."</p><p>Striga's brows even out and she's looking out across the ballroom again, considering something. Then, softly she asks "Are you doing what I think you're doing?" And the positively lethal grin that Morana cuts without looking at her makes her heart clench.</p><p>"I am giving you well earned praise." Morana purrs knowingly, as smug as ever. "I have a theory I want to explore."</p><p>Striga takes a deep breath, rumbling quietly on the exhale. "And here, of all places, when I cannot touch you or return your attention?"</p><p>"Your reciprocation isn't my goal, at least not yet. I simply wish to...steadily wind you up, so to speak." but then that self-satisfaction vanishes, and her tone is soft, sincere. "Though I will stop if you wish it."</p><p>Striga gently scowls, but there is a grin hidden in there somewhere, one she feels in more ways than physical. "It would seem my good lady has snared my curiosity...so I will indulge you." And she suddenly feels both exceptionally brave but also perilously exposed. They are now in on a secret, and it sets her pulse into a spirited cadence.</p><p>"And, naturally, you are free to change your mind at any time." Morana reassures her, a measure of that amusement lacing her voice again. "Also, it is not my intention to overwhelm you, so you will tell me if you are reaching your limits."</p><p>While Striga cannot think of a time where she had been pushed to her <em>limit</em> before, the idea is rather intriguing. There's a briefly entertained mental image of literally ripping Morana out of her dress that makes her grin to herself, but that is quickly smothered with the intent she knows Morana is putting behind the notion; she means for this to be fun, not embarrassing.</p><p>"Very well. I trust you."</p><p>"And I you." Morana finishes her drink and turns her head. "Now come, dance with me."</p><p>"As you wish."</p><p>There's that feeling of exposure again as Morana takes her arm, and it takes conscious effort to move her feet at first, but then she feels those lithe fingers curling snugly, reassuring, and her steps are easier. Much like riding off to war, once the fighting actually starts, the nerves disappear, and then moving is as simple as anything. Her hand feels at home on Morana's waist, the space around her less oppressive now that it is no longer vacant. Though her pulse remains audible in the back of her mind it is steady, less bothersome, and her anxiety only softens further as she basks in the warmth of Morana's visible pleasure to be here with her. With that, everything else seems to fall away and cease to matter.</p><p>Then comes the praise, Morana starting off with little, obvious and innocuous things. Warmth blossoms in Striga's chest at her compliments regarding her smooth, precise steps, her perfect posture, and then "You make me so proud." Something about that last one hits especially deep, unexpectedly so, and it takes every ounce of her self control to maintain tempo. She knows Morana notices even the slightest stutter in her steps and spends the rest of their dance wondering what she would do about it. Which turns out to be nothing much, really, as Morana just smiles up at her, happy as anything.</p><p>Perhaps it was the context, perhaps it's because Striga knows exactly what Morana is up to and her intentions, but all these niceties are settling heavy and hot in her veins -for once she allows them to. She can feel her own pulse steadily thickening through her entire body. She can't help but wonder just how much she could take, and is surprisingly eager to find out. How much longer until midnight?</p><p><em> Too long</em>...</p><p>The music stops much too soon, leaving them to reflexively pause where they are and hold together for several silent beats. In this moment Striga can only think of one other instance of wanting to kiss Morana so much, so badly she can feel the hunger in her hands, and her thoughts hang on the recycling memory of their first kiss. Somehow knowing she cannot indulge herself keys her slightly higher, makes her heart flutter for a moment. Could such things excite someone like this? Could being barred from the one thing you desire most make you desire it all the more? How peculiar.</p><p>Morana is still smiling at her, eyes soft and bright. She can see that Striga is thinking, curious as to what it must be, but doesn't feel the need to press. Something to discuss later when they are alone. However, she does feel a need to ask "<em>Are you all right</em>? <em>Do you wish to continue</em>?" keeping her voice soft and speaking in Slavic for the sake of privacy. Too many people were still too close.</p><p>Striga smiles and takes a slow, stabilizing breath. "<em>You are quite good at this, you know</em>?" and the little, breathy and smug laugh Morana answers with is something she wants to wrap around herself. "<em>I am all right</em>,<em> though I don't know how long you expect me to maintain my dignity</em>."</p><p>"<em>Surely you are not so tempted already</em>?"</p><p>"<em>Not at all, I'm merely keeping a </em>very<em> close account of myself</em>." A throaty chuckle.</p><p>"<em>If you insist</em>." and though her tone is dismissive, as is the little lilt of her head, in reality Morana is anything but. She is silently relishing this. "<em>Come then</em>, <em>let us have another drink</em>."</p><p>It certainly sounded like a delightful idea, however Striga finds it cast aside as her eyes follow the invisible line of their intended path. She sees her other sisters first, both Lenore and Carmilla, their attention wholly focused on an older human man with platinum blond hair and an exceptionally well tamed beard. His posture and the naturally too-high tilt of his chin screams <em>importance</em> and Striga would swear she felt her stomach turn just by looking at him. Something in her mind is telling her she knows exactly who he is though she has never seen the man before in her life. Not that she could recall, anyway.</p><p>"Babenburg?"</p><p>Morana simply hums, a sound of confirmation. "Take heart, love, as you won't have to face him alone."</p><p>"Indeed." Striga nods once, then offers a soft, vulnerable "Thank you."</p><p>And Striga finds herself eternally grateful for such a seemingly simple thing, just the presence of her sisters enough to keep her flawlessly steady and calm. Although, as she comes to find, had they not been present she might have fared just as well; Babenburg came off not at all unlike herself, to-the-point and rather frank. He introduces himself minimally, offering the usual platitude of "The queen has told me so much about you," and appears to take no offense when Striga responds honestly with a testament to her lacking knowledge of him.</p><p>"Career military man, so there isn't much to tell, you understand." His expression is unreadable, neutral, like he's tired of this. "Though I must admit to an interest in hearing of your time with the Mongols. I've only ever heard stories, so a first-hand account, I believe, would be quite something."</p><p>"Perhaps another time." Striga nods with the smallest, pleased smirk. Then those keen green eyes flit away from him for an unmeasured second before returning. "And may I assume this fine young lady is your daughter, my lord?"</p><p>"You may, general. Frena," he gestures with one hand that he quickly returns to rest behind his back with the other. "Here is the General Striga you were so excited to meet."</p><p>Frena Babenburg looks to be near to Lenore's physical age, perhaps half a head taller, and her long, platinum blonde hair is tied over her shoulder in a robust and pristine plait. Her facial features resemble her fathers in that they are sharp and direct and attention drawing, a total antitheses to the soft warmth of her rich brown eyes. She takes an eager step forward and offers her hand as well as something like a curtsy.</p><p>Striga takes her hand in acceptance and little else, not entirely sure if there was something else she was expected to do. "A pleasure."</p><p>"The pleasure's all mine, general." She straightens and smiles up at Striga with delight and interest. "I dare say the rumors hardly do you any justice."</p><p>"Rumors rarely do." and Striga finds a discomforting sort of surprise in how readily the young woman laughs. "Though I cannot imagine you have heard many if you are still so pleased to meet me."</p><p>"Of course I am, it isn't often you meet a general that is woman. Father has always believed women shouldn't participate in warfare."</p><p>"And after a fashion I can agree; not all women are meant to raise a sword, some are certainly more suited at giving orders as opposed to taking them, just as men. But, as is also true with men, it takes a great many sorts to emerge victorious."</p><p>Frena beams, looking to her right with a sharply cocked brow, a daring sort of look. "Indeed. What do you think, father?"</p><p>"I think the notion rather...<em>liberal</em>," he pauses, shifting and gently clearing his throat, "but not <em>entirely</em> without merits. It would make for a fine discussion another time."</p><p>"It would make for a fine discussion <em>now</em>, I think. If the general would humor me?"</p><p>Striga sees Frena offering her hand again and, again, finds herself uncertain as to what to do about it. Her first instinct is to look to her sisters for direction, even if it's just a look, but manages to refrain from doing so. <em>Don't let them know you're unsure</em>. Instead she forces a congenial grin and accepts, surprise flickering briefly and unmissable across her face when Frena all but drags her along.</p><p>"Frena certainly is becoming a bold one, isn't she?" Carmilla says in a strange combination of a sneer and a chuckle.</p><p>"Much like her mother." Babenburg all but laments, shrugging. "And just like her mother she has an enduring fascination with <em>your kind</em>. Tell me, your majesty, where in the world did you <em>unearth</em> such a creature as your General Striga?"</p><p>"At this rate, perhaps that's a question better posed to your daughter." as Carmilla can tell from here that she is most likely attempting to talk Striga's ear off.</p><p>"Be that as it may," he turns to look in the same direction for a second, then brings his attention back. "In any case, know that I mean to keep a close eye on Styria and your council for some time yet."</p><p>"I was expecting nothing less." Because she knows Babenburg well and knows he will not change.</p><p>"Good. Now, if you'll excuse me."</p><p>"Do enjoy the rest of the evening, won't you? And give my regards to the archbishop," and it's hard to gauge if it was possible for Carmilla to sound <em>less</em> sincere.</p><p>"I <em>do</em> detest that man." Lenore sighs, not a trace of that supposedly abundant disdain present in her tone.</p><p>"As do I." And Morana's addition seems to have siphoned all the malice from Lenore's sentiment and doubled it over her own. The caustic hiss draws her other sisters' eyes, but she doesn't acknowledge them, her own attention fixed tightly on the retreating Babenburg's back, as if thought alone might kill him where he stands. "Bastard."</p><p>"Well, that's true enough," Carmilla concedes, as it is the truth, "but what about him has you so visibly upset?"</p><p>"His audacity to speak of Striga that way."</p><p>"Hmph," Lenore scoffs, "then you might blow a vessel over what I heard earlier."</p><p>Morana cocks a single brow, her blue eyes sharp. "Oh?"</p><p>Lenore smiles and gives a little laugh in spite of herself. "Some of our guests have a fun new name for us; the Styrian bitches and their dancing bear." and she watches with a perhaps sadistic glee as Morana's pupils thin, almost disappear. "Heaven knows we've been called worse things,"</p><p>"Indeed." Carmilla agrees passively.</p><p>"Striga does not deserve such mockery, to have these fools look down on her like she's some beast." Morana says tightly, like her teeth are stuck together. Perhaps that's better. "She's not an animal."</p><p>"Come now, Morana, we're <em>all</em> animals. Each of us our own breed, but animals all the same." Carmilla makes an honest attempt to pacify her sister, but feels she fails as there is no change in the sharpness of Morana's demeanor.</p><p>"Indeed. And we can use this, you know." Lenore adds. "Let them mock us now, let them giggle behind their hands like we have no idea how nobility plays favorites, and let them believe Striga is nothing more than a savage in silk. That will make it all the sweeter when one of them makes the monumentally poor decision of crossing us."</p><p>That particular truth does nothing to soothe Morana's rooted disgust, but it finds a place in her all the same. Yes, that would be a delicious revelation to witness, but at present it pales in comparison to the roiling fury she would love nothing more than to wreak across the entirety of the ballroom. The whole god damn lot of them should be fucking <em>terrified</em> of the council, of Striga in particular as she would be the unyielding hand of doom for them all should they ever gain the nerve to raise a hand against Styria.</p><p>Lenore must have sensed the nature of her sister's thoughts, read it in her eyes or by some other tell, as she goes on to say "The long game, Morana. Think of the long game."</p><p>"Hmph." and as dismissive as it sounds, there is still acceptance in it.</p><p> </p><p>The night carries on, and Morana finds that wrought iron displeasure steadily replaced by another sort of dissatisfaction. Young Babenburg seemed to have created a monopoly of Striga's attention, and as the hour nears midnight, Morana hadn't been able to so much as catch her lover's eyes since Frena had dragged her off. So she finds herself mostly stationary, watching closely, and doing a poor job of pretending to enjoy the festivities as to not give her jealousy -jealousy, really?- away. Not to mention what this could be doing to her plans that she felt were exceptionally time sensitive; what if all this attention left Striga overtired?</p><p>At the very least, she acknowledges, her lover appeared to be holding her own, which was it's own sort of reassurance.</p><p>"It's but a few moments to midnight, just go get her."</p><p>Morana refuses to let her surprise translate into something visible, so she relegates it to a brief clenching of the muscles in her jaw as she turns to see Carmilla.</p><p>"You think it wise to risk offending little miss Babenburg?"</p><p>"I didn't say that." Carmilla grins. She's mimicking Morana's posture and also looks out over the ballroom, though she isn't focused on any point in particular. "Still, surely it would be easy enough to spin a lie, just tell her there's business and leave it at that."</p><p>"Suppose so."</p><p>They're quiet for a moment, then "I'm quite proud of you all, you know. Striga in particular. You two looked spectacular together, by the way."</p><p>Morana smiles without thinking. "As if there was any doubt."</p><p>"Of course I had my doubts, you know me better than that." Carmilla laughs softly, seemingly to herself. "Mind you, I wasn't anticipating the event to blow up in my face, but I certainly didn't expect this to go so smoothly. And all of you have played your parts marvelously to make it happen."</p><p>"We wish to succeed just as much as you do. And not just that, we wish for <em>you</em> to succeed as well."</p><p>Now Carmilla casts her gaze softly onto Morana, an honest and vulnerable thing. "Indeed. Now go fetch your woman, I'll deal with Babenburg if necessary."</p><p>"Hm. You're being awfully generous."</p><p>"I assure you that it won't last, so you best take advantage of it while you can."</p><p>"Far be it for me to squander such an opportunity." Morana smirks in a genuine way. "Good evening, Carmilla."</p><p>"Good evening, sister. <em>Do</em> enjoy it."</p><p>"Oh, I intend to."</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><span class="u">Author's Note:</span> Sorry for such a long delay, it wasn't my intention to be out for so long. But all this stuff seemed to happen at once -my medical emergency and recovery followed by my husband's medical emergency and recovery plus the retail disaster that is the holiday season followed by just a simple difficulty in getting going as far as writing goes made for a serious dry spell that I'm still struggling to get away from. Plus, something about this chapter felt like such a SLOG, so there's that working against me too. In any case, hopefully the rest of the story will be smooth sailing from here, because it's super soft and super gay. Feel free to mention just how soft and gay you would like for it to be, and we'll see how it goes. Thanks for all the patience and support, see you next chapter!</p>
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<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Chapter Twenty-Seven</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As Carmilla had suggested, it was truly easy enough to spin a lie that loosed Frena Babenburg's vice-like grip on Striga's arm and allowed Morana to steal her lover away at long last. A simple explanation of "council matters" was sufficient and young Frena showed no protest, only proper acceptance, which was best, as Striga wasn't able to decipher what was really going on fast enough to be a proper accomplice to the little deception.</p><p>"Another gallant rescue, my lady." Striga says quietly as the two of them make their way across the ballroom, sidestepping pods of humans.</p><p>"You didn't appear in need of a rescue,"</p><p>"Because I was heeding your advice to conceal my discomfort. Suppose I was successful?"</p><p>"Indeed, as I admit that my coming to collect you was wholly selfish." Morana is smiling but keeping her gaze forward. She's focusing on the double doors ahead, feeling a phantom sort of itch in her hands in anticipation of putting them on Striga again once they were alone. "You've been a wonderful host tonight, even Carmilla said as much."</p><p>"Oh?"</p><p>"Yes, she is quite pleased, as am I. I believe you handled the Babenburgs masterfully."</p><p>Striga clears her throat, and with a quick glance Morana can see that she's smiling, though the expression is unsteady and brief. She can also see the slight pinkness in Striga's cheeks.</p><p>"Frena was not the...worst sort, I must confess. Hardly anything like her father, which I admit to her benefit. If she is to succeed him, it will make for interesting relations."</p><p>Morana hums in consideration. Then "I hope she didn't overwhelm you. I know socializing is something of a labor for you."</p><p>"It is, but no, quite the opposite."</p><p>"Oh?"</p><p>"I could only think of you the entire time." Striga chuckles with a certain disbelief. "She was all questions and flattery, but her interest felt...empty. It only made me long for you and your praise even more."</p><p>"Oh." the intrigue in Morana's tone is tangible and sharp.</p><p>"Indeed. So I hope you mean for us to depart from here that we might seek our own entertainment in private."</p><p>"I do."</p><p>"Excellent." and Striga says this with a breathy relief and another, more steady smile.</p><p> </p><p>Hearing the double doors close behind them and echo through the otherwise empty corridor outside the ballroom seems to punctuate the sensation of an incredible weight tumbling from Striga's shoulders. Like before, in the seconds leading up to her submitting herself to their guests' approval, Striga is all too aware of her own heartbeat, now coupled with the steadily simmering heat throughout her body. Immediately she has a hand at the small of Morana's back and is resisting the urge to actively push against her, to hurry her along.</p><p>Because Striga is feeling hunger like she never has before and doesn't want to lose it.</p><p>"I had hoped we would have been able to dance more." Morana says passively.</p><p>"We could have stayed if you wanted." Striga says quickly, like a reflex that she didn't think through. "Then again, we can dance whenever you wish, we don't need Carmilla's fancy parties."</p><p>"This is true."</p><p>"...Were you happy?"</p><p>"<em>So</em> happy." She sighs in a dreamy way. "You were wonderful."</p><p>Striga feels a fresh surge of heat roll down her spine and circle back into her chest. Her fingers unconsciously flex against Morana's back, the silky fabric creasing gently. She quickly twists her head around, looking to be sure they are alone, not feeling satisfied until they turn a bend in the hallway. Then she's pulling Morana to her fast and rough, turning them both and making thoughtless steps until she has her good lady pressed to the cool corridor wall. Morana is already panting, eyes wide, and the impact of her body against the wall has her yelping in surprise, a sound Striga is swift to swallow. Her kiss is fierce, <em>claiming</em>, and it has Morana whimpering into her mouth and squirming in her arms. Without warning Striga is pushing her tongue passed Morana's lips, rumbling deep in her chest as one big hand securely cups the back of her slender neck and the other hooks into the plentiful round of her backside. Then she's pressing impossibly closer, bending a knee to nudge between Morana's thighs and grinning at the muffled cry that vibrates between them as a result.</p><p>Morana cannot resist the spike of hot arousal that crashes through her, her hips reflexively canting against the sweet pressure, and her hands curling into the fabric of Striga's shirt with the steadily building threat of clawing right through it.</p><p>Their separation is loud and their heaving breaths are even louder, but neither of them care.</p><p>"Not here." Morana half-begs.</p><p>"No, but I couldn't wait another second." Striga's eyes are closed, but when they open in the next instant, their brightness and the broad darkness of her pupils is startling, otherworldly. "I need you."</p><p>The husky declaration gives Morana goosebumps. Had Striga ever professed her desire like this before? With this much naked want? She can't be sure at present, but she knows that she loves the sound of it. "Then you shall have me."</p><p>Striga grins something curt and wicked, giving her another, painfully brief kiss before gathering Morana up in her arms. Morana's chambers are decidedly closer, so that is where they go, and all the while Morana is nipping and kissing and murmuring sweet praise against Striga's throat. She can sense her lover winding tighter, Striga's desire pitching, and she just drinks in the feeling of power it gives her.</p><p>The next thing either of them are really aware of is Morana's common table, the edge of it pressing against Morana's lower back as Striga all but drapes herself over her, both of her hands tightly gripping the edge and her lips making an honest attempt to devour Morana whole.</p><p>"Love," Morana manages in between feverish, demanding kisses. "Let me lead? You said I could,"</p><p>"I must tend to you first. Please." her words are rough and growling, hungry. "Just in case."</p><p>"In case of what?"</p><p>Striga somehow finds it in her to pause, to pull back even if it is but a few smothering inches. "In case...I change my mind. Or...if something goes wrong."</p><p>Morana understands, somehow and in spite of the heat in her body and her mind and in the quick breaths that waft against her face. She understands and accepts it. "What can I do?"</p><p>There had been uncertainty in Striga's eyes for a moment, something that Striga could feel through her own carnal haze, but Morana's words are soothing, grounding, and her focus is quickly regained. "Get out of this dress before I tear it off of you."</p><p>"It clasps in the back."</p><p>One last kiss and then Striga grunts as she promptly flips Morana around and pushes her against the table with an insistent shove of her hips. "Stay." she commands and Morana obeys, silently reveling in the energy crackling between them. She makes a note to discuss winding Striga up like this more often in the future.</p><p>Striga fights to keep her hands steady, surprised when she switches her focus from Morana's dress to the pearls around her neck, though actually not so surprised after all when she remembers how pretty her good lady's neck is once they're off. Her mouth is quick to latch on, teeth and tongue against Morana's beautiful brown skin where her neck and shoulder meet. Morana squirms and hums in pleasure, her hips pressing back against Striga's, a gesture that Striga answers in kind to receive a curious, though not unpleasant sound. "Do you like that?"</p><p>"Strangely, yes," because this is not a position she usually finds herself in, if ever. But she <em>does</em> like it.</p><p>"Hm." Then, just by feeling, Striga is able to find the closure of the dress and pull it apart, wasting no time at all in starting to tug the garment down. She growls powerfully between Morana's shoulder blades when she feels bare, heated flesh under her hands. "I have been wanting to touch you all night."</p><p>"As have I." Morana pants, loving the friction of skin against skin, the weight of Striga's body surrounding her. She thinks to say something else, but the notion is swiftly erased when those powerful hands snake around her front, one palming her breast and the other sinking between her thighs. She tries again to speak as those thick but nimble fingers start stirring gently against her clit, and again she fails to form a single syllable. Striga's hips make a languid roll against her own, pushing her that much tighter into Striga's hand, and Morana's elbows tremble before buckling to leave her half-collapsed atop the table.</p><p>"You like that too." Not a question, a snarling, amused observation that is only supported by Morana's tight, needy whimper. "You love what I do to you, don't you?"</p><p>"Like nothing else." the words come spilling out, hot and desperate. "Striga, I -<em>hah</em>!" and her jaw snaps shut at the cresting, pinching pain in her shoulder as Striga closes her lips and draws tightly on her skin. The release of pressure, the gentle but throbbing ache leaves her feeling boneless and light headed.</p><p>"Is that too much, my love?"</p><p>Morana can only shake her head, swallowing thickly in an attempt to remember what words are. "I want to see you. Please."</p><p>She's being spun around again, the motion dizzying in a good way, and then Morana feels herself being lifted up and deposited atop the table, Striga quickly and certainly taking up the space between her thighs with a single step. Those green eyes are gleaming and her pupils are still blown wide, startlingly human-looking and full of hunger. The black stain on her lips is smudged, but Morana hasn't enough care to give it as she stretches upward to snatch them in a kiss.</p><p>"Could you help me undress?" Striga's request is surprisingly soft, almost hesitant.</p><p>No verbal response, just an eager nod, and no hesitation as those nimble but trembling talons start with the buckle of the cape on Striga's shoulder, making short work of it even as Striga is pressing into her again, bracing on her hands and nipping at Morana's throat. Next Morana is fighting to unwind the scarlet sash about her waist until Striga starts it herself, sensing her lover's frustration at the task taking too long. Then Striga is pulling the fine tunic over her head, Morana's eyes wide and adoring when she can finally see most of her lover's beautiful body laid bare.</p><p>Morana puts her hands to Striga's chest, the tips of her talons grazing the taught fabric covering her breasts, and she looks up with a silent request in her eyes. Striga doesn't grant her permission with words, and instead reaches a hand behind her back where the binding is tucked in, pulling it free as she leans in again. "Touch me. I want you to."</p><p>Morana wraps herself around Striga, pulls her close with her legs about her broad waist and her arms curling around the cage of Striga's ribs. She quickly finds the loosed end of the binding and guides it around, tugging and tugging until it falls to the floor with the rest of their clothes. She thrills at the mere idea of this, of being able to enjoy Striga with her hands -it's been so rare in this context thus far. Part of her is almost unsure, but then she feels and hears Striga's pleased purr as she gently palms her full breasts and finds renewed confidence.</p><p>Then she feels a touch of boldness, pushing softly upward with her hands until Striga yields to it, straightening. The taller vampire casts a heated yet curious look down at her, an expression that steadily morphs into raw need as Morana meets her eyes and smiles before closing her lips around one taught nipple. Striga's eyes drift close and her head tips back with a low, breathy groan. One hand comes up to cradle Morana's cheek, following the little movements as Morana laves and kisses and nips at her, the other hand clenching around nothing, the muscles in her arm rhythmically popping with brief tension. Then there's pressure behind Striga's hand that Morana takes as a silent request for more, and she obliges, feeling a streak of smugness shiver through her at a loud hiss from above as she draws hungrily with her mouth.</p><p>"Feels good," Striga manages, her voice rough around the edges with arousal. "<em>Fuck</em>," She feels Morana hum with approval against her breast and shakes as her knees threaten to buckle. But her focus and stability come snapping back when she feels talons at the waist of her trousers. "N-not yet. You first."</p><p>Morana waits until Striga is looking at her again before releasing her nipple with a soft pop. "If you insist." She feigns a pout, momentarily playful and pleased to earn a little smile from her lover. "I want you inside me."</p><p>Striga simply nods, taking a moment to just adore her as her pale hand frames her face, then she bends down to kiss Morana in a tender, surprisingly soft way. Then that hand drifts along the lean column of her throat, along the bend of her shoulder, thrums her ribs and then momentarily enjoys the soft resting place of Morana's hip, purring when Striga feels those dainty talons in her hair trying to undo the little plait keeping it back. Then Striga groans with an open mouth as her hair tumbles free and those claws rake deliciously across her scalp.</p><p>Striga does not take her carefully, her hand is insistent and decisive, two thick fingers pressing into Morana with no resistance at all. Morana jolts against her, leading Striga to worry for all of a second that she pushed too far, but then she feels the sweet vibrations of Morana keening into her shoulder and it sets her at ease.</p><p>Immediately Morana's hips are bucking, rolling into Striga's broad palm in search of whatever friction there was to find. Her hands hook into Striga's biceps, claws threatening as she anchors herself and taking skin between her teeth for good measure. Striga's fingers provide a sparking, burning stretch in her core that doesn't translate so much as pain as it does near over-stimulation. It's dizzying, makes her heart hammer within the cage of her ribs; it's like she's coming apart at the seams as that powerful hand works into deep and steady strokes and Morana's hips mindlessly match the rhythm.</p><p>Striga nuzzles tightly into Morana's neck, rumbling as she curls her free arm across her good lady's back, pulling her impossibly closer. "I want to feel you shatter in my arms."</p><p>"Then break me, my love." Morana cries, shivering in the fleeting seconds before she fractures. So beautiful. Her claws drag down pale, rigid musculature, leaving pink and red ribbons down her lover's arms, little wounds that Striga shoulders without complaint. And then, for a stretching moment, everything around her softens; Striga's grip, the vigorous kisses along her throat quiet to less than whispers, and the powerful hand between her legs languidly curls, stroking as Striga gently withdraws, pulling a shiver with it.</p><p>Morana pushes back against that broad chest, but not so far as to free herself from Striga's embrace, and glazed blue eyes watch as Striga raises her glistening fingers to her mouth and slowly licks them clean, eyes closed and with a hum of enjoyment. The erotic display makes Morana's heart leap and her core clench with a fresh punch of arousal.</p><p>"Exquisite." Striga purrs, the word punctuated with the sudden opening of her eyes and their sharp emerald gleam.</p><p>It takes a moment, a series of quick breaths, before Morana smiles and raises her hands to hold her lover's face. "Yes, you are."</p><p>Striga blinks back at her, all the cocky amusement flickering out of her face and leaving behind a sort of surprise and fresh pinkness in her cheeks. And, having seen this, Morana believes she has taken that cocky amusement for herself as her own grin cuts wider. Morana gently pulls her in, kisses the tip of Striga's nose, and then holds her there a moment more just to rest their foreheads together.</p><p>"To bed then?" she asks softly, the question in her eyes as well as she searches Striga's face for...anything.</p><p>Striga is silent, still appearing a little dazed, and then she swallows and manages to nod. She starts to pull Morana to her again, meaning to lift her up, but stops when she feels her good lady gently resisting.</p><p>"I am leading now, and I wish to walk." she says kindly, but certainly.</p><p>"But I want to hold you." the protest is small and needy, a sound Striga knows she isn't one to usually make.</p><p>"And you will." Morana promises, taking one of Striga's hands in both of hers as she slides off the edge of the table and starts to walk around. Striga willingly follows, and the lingering, beckoning look on her face -though endearing- makes Morana feel the need to assure her a little further. "Behave for me, and I'll give you everything you want."</p><p>Striga's eyes become impossibly wide as she feels those words crackle hotly along her nerves and settle in her lower belly -she thinks it a wonder that she is still able to walk. <em>God, how does she do it?</em></p><p>Morana is still smiling like a cat in the cream when they reach the bed, giving the smallest breathy giggle when she asks Striga to remove her boots. Striga is quick to comply, eager want forming lines in her face when she straightens again. She grinds out a little grunt of surprise when Morana places her palms flat against her broad chest and firmly pushes, effectively forcing her to sit on the edge of the bed and turning that want into a sort of anxious intrigue. Striga realizes the shift in their usual dynamic, and isn't entirely sure what to do with it, but is interested in seeing what becomes of it.</p><p>Morana encourages her further onto the bed with a gentle but consistent hand, eventually getting Striga to rest up against the pillows before climbing into her lover's lap. She can see the sense of comfort come over Striga as she straddles her hips, those big hands reflexively smoothing over dark, mole-dappled thighs with a smile and a sigh. Morana allows her that for a moment before gently taking those thick wrists and lifting them away. "Hands down."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"As I said, hands down." she repeats, and reiterates by pressing Striga's hands to the bed. She waits for Striga's reaction, which is little more than a puzzled, expectant look. "What did I say?"</p><p>Striga struggles to speak at first, as if her entire vocabulary just slipped her mind. "...Behave, and I'll get what I want."</p><p>"And I meant it. I am leading, so you shall follow." Again she waits for a reaction, her resolve wavering a little when the uncertainty in Striga's eyes doesn't change. "Unless you do not wish it. If this does not feel right, please tell me."</p><p>"I am trying to discern how it feels." because this is <em>so</em> new to her. Striga feels filled to the brim with a countless number of feelings and sensations, and trying to sift through and name them all while trying to focus through her burning arousal is proving to be a serious challenge. "But...continue, and we shall see for ourselves." And Striga forces herself to relax, to flatten her hands atop the blanket for a second before curling her fingers and anchoring them obediently in place.</p><p>"You're certain?"</p><p>Striga nods with a deep, stabilizing breath. "I trust you, my lady."</p><p>And that brings Morana more comfort than she can possibly describe.</p><p>Feeling confident again, Morana returns to her task and eases up along Striga's body, her knees near Striga's ribs so she can reach Striga's lips when she bends down. She can feel the blankets pulling up on either side, Striga's arms flexing powerfully as she resists the urge to touch. A little thought says she's cruel to deny Striga like this, but there is a much louder notion that's too intrigued by the prospect of winding her lover up that much more. Morana had never thought that praise and denial could go hand in hand, but perhaps they could in this case, and she is eager to see the results.</p><p>Morana kisses her slowly, savoring, enjoying the deep and velvety rumble Striga makes when she slips her tongue into her mouth. That rumble pitches high and tight when Morana's fingers sift through her hair, dragging along her scalp behind the long bends of her ears and down the column of her neck, making the tendons pop sharply with tension. Now Morana's lips follow a similar path, giving Striga's proud chin the littlest peck before continuing down her throat. She chances a nip with her fangs, immediately pulling away when Striga grunts and tenses; Striga is shaking her head when she looks up, and Morana offers a quiet but sincere apology.</p><p>Striga tries lifting up, wordlessly demanding a kiss, which Morana grants for but a moment before pushing her back down with one hand. Those bright green eyes are full of hunger, pupils wide with want, and Morana meets them with softness and a request for patience that Striga concedes to and flops back into the pillows with a feverish growl.</p><p>"You said you trusted me, love." she reminds Striga, who just growls again and makes Morana laugh. "We could stop this, of course, if that's what you truly want."</p><p>Striga opens her mouth to speak only for her teeth to snap back together at a spark of fresh sensation. Morana's rolling her tender nipple slowly under her thumb. "F-far be it for me to -<em>fuck</em>- ruin my lady's fun."</p><p>"You wouldn't. This is for <em>you</em>, after all. Your satisfaction is my satisfaction."</p><p>Striga groans behind her teeth, muscles bulging as her hips lift off the bed, lifting Morana with them. Her body, like her heart, is pounding with her own pulse and crackling arousal.</p><p>"You're so sensitive." Morana says with a certain wonder, her eyes widening in delighted interest. Now she's watching Striga very closely as she starts lavishing her other breast with similar attention, Striga's body arching again, higher this time, Morana able to plainly feel the pop of abdominal muscles against her gently aching center. "Is it good?"</p><p>"<em>Yes</em>," and the admission sounds more like a sob, cracking and raw. "God, woman, let me touch you!"</p><p>"Not yet." Morana says quickly, softly, feeling herself relax. "As you have said yourself, I need to focus, and you know your touch leaves me weak."</p><p>"Is that so?" Striga meets her lover's eyes and cracks half a shaky smirk.</p><p>"Oh yes." Morana slowly bends down, holding Striga's gaze as she puts a lingering kiss on her sternum. "Your touch is bliss." Then another, lower. "Your embrace is my refuge." A third, lower still. "And your love sustains me."</p><p>Striga shudders beneath her and she feels her core clench hard as those sweet words roll through her senses.</p><p>"I've wanted to touch you like this for so long." Another shiver has Morana grinning against her silvery skin -though now it has taken on a touch of lively color and heat. "To properly show you how much I adore you."</p><p>For a fleeting second Striga thinks to say something, to respond with some sort of encouragement that Morana's love had never been in doubt, but the thought vanishes and what words that might have come fracture on a gasping shout as Morana takes a nipple into her mouth again. When the stimulation settles in her body, becomes less sharp, she realizes that words wouldn't have mattered.</p><p>That's why this meant so much to Morana, to be in charge and to have Striga yielding to her desire. Morana needed to know Striga was hearing her most honest, purest declaration of affection and devotion, because Morana's touch screamed <em> love love love</em>, and Striga's willing surrender was the only response to give.</p><p>Morana releases her breast with a satisfying pop and a kiss before rising on her palms. "I'm going to finish undressing you." the manic nod and tight whimper she receives makes her smirk, a self-satisfied thing.</p><p>"<em>Morana</em>," Striga's body bows, her head pushing back into the pillows, pulling deep lines in the linen with the pressure. "I don't know how much more I can take."</p><p>A little worry creases Morana's brow. "Is something wrong?"</p><p>"N-no," she whimpers. "But it's almost too much."</p><p>"Then I will not tease you further."</p><p>Striga eyes are wide and bright on her. "You call this <em>teasing</em>?" She almost laughs, but by the way her chest rises and falls at such a frantic pace, she may simply not have the air for it.</p><p>Morana is smiling again, a relaxed and felid look. She reaches down and manages to pry one of Striga's white-knuckled hands out of the blanket. She brings it up and waits for Striga to relax before kissing the knuckles, pulling a rattling, open-mouthed moan from her lover. "I forget this is still new to you." Then she puts Striga's hand back to the bed, reminding her to keep it there before beginning to inch down along Striga's trembling body.</p><p>Morana makes short work of the knot keeping Striga's trousers in place, and takes care to drag the edges of her talons along those strong, pale thighs as she pulls the fabric down. Striga is panting and keening behind closed teeth, making a conscious effort to keep still long enough to be easily laid bare. She can feel Morana now trying to push between her thighs, her hands fanning across her stomach a jolt to her nerves and drawing every ounce of her attention. She watches Morana like a hawk as she kisses down her stomach, lips dragging along the central furrow of her abdomen to her navel where she gently nips, Striga's hips jumping.</p><p>"How I have longed to taste you." Morana's breath falls hot against Striga's belly, drawing gooseflesh. "May I?"</p><p>For a moment they just look at each other, Morana waiting for a clear answer, Striga struggling to form something that at least resembles one. So she nods.</p><p>"Say the words, my love." Morana orders gently, shimmying her hips to push Striga's thighs a little farther apart.</p><p>"<em>Y-yes</em> , <em>please</em>."</p><p>"So polite." Morana grins. "And don't try to keep quiet on my account. I want to hear you."</p><p>Striga can barely consider the notion before she forgets about it entirely, now wholly fixed on watching Morana again as she settles deeper between her thighs. Her breaths quicken when Morana meets her eyes, unyielding and intense as she wets her lips with a quick pass of her tongue. Then Striga's breathing stops altogether, her mouth dropping open and her eyes rolling back at the first, deep kiss against her hot, aching sex.</p><p>Morana's intimate attention starts gently, carefully, mindful of the high sensitivity that Striga has shown before when being touched like this. Sure enough Striga writhes and curses and hisses between her fangs, but not like she had before, and that gives Morana comfort to continue. After the care comes the indulgence, slow strokes of her tongue through heated, slick silk. She kisses the glistening bud of Striga's clit and silently revels in the way her hips pitch lightly at the contact. All of Morana's senses are alight, sated and stimulated at once, and she thinks she could live in this feeling forever.</p><p>All of this is toeing the line of too much, and Striga cannot bring her focus together enough to find where that line actually is. Every sensation, every touch makes her shake, makes her weak, and she's caught somewhere between awe and fear at how this is effecting her. Striga has never felt this desperation before, this strange dichotomy between vulnerability and security; it makes no fucking sense but it feels so <em>god damn </em> <em> <b>good</b> </em>. Morana's tongue dips low and teases her entrance and Striga can't stop the incredible flex of her abdomen, pulling her sharply into a sitting position with a hoarse shout. She almost touches her, both of those big hands ripping free of the blanket but then stopping halfway to shakily hover over her lover's head. Fingers curl and loose in the air, knuckles popping with tension, but she refrains from disobeying, managing to brace herself with her hands behind her instead.</p><p>Morana must have noticed this, sensed it somehow, as those blue eyes flit up to meet tortured verdigree when her mouth pauses its dutiful work. "Good girl."</p><p>Striga groans, her body bowing forward around the feeling of her core clenching again at those soft words. But it feels different this time, less like flexing a muscle and more like being pushed. There's an apex in it somewhere, one she feels resolutely dragged closer to as Morana's mouth latches onto her again. And now she's drawing with her mouth like she does with Striga's tongue and she feels like she's cracking into pieces -<em>oh sweet fucking mercy</em>-</p><p>"<em>M-Morana</em> , <em> <b>Morana</b> </em>," Her usually deep, rich voice is keyed high and tight, desperate and on the verge of breaking. Then her body stills, tightens from head to toe with every muscle flexing a mere second before she collapses back to the bed with a heavy, exhaling cry. For a moment that seemed to stretch on and on, Striga feels outside of her own body, but knows she writhes and bows against the bed, hands tearing at the blankets as her core pulses. She can feel talons at her hips, likely Morana's attempt to keep her still, but can't tell if she succeeds.</p><p>Morana watches intently as her lover comes undone, her heart clutching at this wonderful display. Those rippling muscles drawn taught, the inky blackness of Striga's hair tossed messily across the bed, the glimmer of fangs as she pants and whimpers is nothing short of divine. With closer focus Morana can see the hefty blush across Striga's face and neck and chest, it's enough heated blood to make her look alive and it stills her breath with a tender awe. And underneath it all is a certain smugness; <em>she</em> had done this, and was the only one to have seen and given Striga such ecstasy. Giving her the keys to Hell itself wouldn't have made her feel so powerful.</p><p>When it seems the strongest tremors have passed, Morana slowly crawls up along her lover's side. She means to kiss her, to help her come down, but as she gets a closer look at her lying there, panting and glistening with sweat and raw, she sees the life in her skin with greater clarity. "You have freckles." she breathes, unsure and not entirely concerned if she is heard. Because that lovely dusting of faint stars across Striga's cheeks and the bridge of her nose is all she cares about at present.</p><p>But Striga doesn't let her admire it long. She has enough presence of mind to hear and make out Morana's voice, but not enough to remember Morana's order to keep her hands to herself, and roughly takes Morana's face in her trembling hands to drag her down into a messy, desperate kiss. Then her arms are winding around Morana and pulling her closer and she simply doesn't care how well behaved she is anymore. She just had to touch Morana, feeling like she might irreparably fall to pieces if she didn't.</p><p>Morana is happy to yield to it, feeling she had denied Striga long enough. She almost feels guilty about it. Almost.</p><p>Minutes tick by, Striga calming by degrees. Now they're tangled together, lying on their sides with Striga tucking to rest her forehead against Morana's collar bone, her body still expanding and contracting with quick breaths. Morana can hear that her heart still hums behind her ribs and her body still feels <em>very</em> warm, but the shakes have subsided.</p><p>"You were wonderful, my love." Morana says softly, kissing the top of Striga's head with extra care. "So beautiful. So perfect."</p><p>A breathless rumble is Striga's initial answer. She's still fighting to bring her cognition back together, it having gone threadbare along with the rest of her. Her fingers mindlessly curl against Morana's back, the smooth friction of skin on skin somewhat grounding. Now she's kissing whatever part of Morana her lips are closest to, again and again and again. Then she hears Morana's soft laughter, feels those fingers and talons carding softly through her hair, and the world melts away.</p><p> </p><p>Striga opens her eyes and feels more together, more like herself, though she doesn't know how much time has passed. She senses it must have been a while, as her body and Morana's have shifted from the position she last recalls being in. Now Morana is resting flat on her back with an arm bent beneath Striga's head, and Striga is on her stomach with one arm shamelessly draped over her. The room is perfectly silent, leading Striga to believe that her good lady must be asleep. But, as she finishes the thought, Morana stirs slightly, her chest rising suddenly in a smooth way, and then those blue eyes are on her and she can't look away.</p><p>"Are you all right, love?"</p><p>Striga blinks slowly and takes a breath. "I believe so. Were you worried?"</p><p>A little smile. "You fainted, I think, so I was a little concerned."</p><p>"Oh." Sable brows lift with surprise. "Well...in my defense, that was...a lot."</p><p>Morana's brow knits gently, sympathetic. "Did you not enjoy it?"</p><p>"I...am not entirely sure. I didn't...<em>not</em> enjoy it. The touching was <em>very good</em>, but..." the words just weren't coming like she needed them to, so she deflates with a shrug. "I need time to navigate this."</p><p>"Of course." Morana nods once and turns, rolling closer to Striga and gently stroking her cheek with the back of her hand. "Thank you for allowing me that, though."</p><p>Striga chances a smile. "Was it all you hoped for?"</p><p>"Everything and more." She eases forward to press a surprisingly chaste kiss to Striga's lips. "Just as <em>you</em> are."</p><p>The heat is fresh in Striga's cheeks and she feels a fluttering in her heart, just when she thought it had finally calmed. She shrugs again, a softer thing, and drags up her hand to clasp Morana's, to hold it in place against her face. "I love you." and her words are deliberate, relaxed, filled to the brim and honest.</p><p>Morana's smile is full of teeth and bright, dazzling like a sky full of stars. "And I love you."</p><p>They kiss and kiss and kiss, and then make their way beneath the blankets at last before kissing some more. There are murmurs and giggles before they settle in, meaning to sleep the day away in one another's arms.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><span class="u"> Author's Note: </span> This felt good to write, and it's been a minute since writing felt good. There are a lot of factors around that, but it isn't because writing suddenly stopped being fun. I've had a lot of shit going on these last couple weeks, so it was nice to cut loose and write these lovely ladies having a good time. I'd say there's one chapter left, depends how I feel. I'm considering a wedding, but it won't be a big thing if I do. Not a fan of going into detail with the ceremony, but I love writing about the people attending it. Still, feel free and welcome to add your two cents on the matter, whatever thoughts you might have. It's been a blast, everyone, and thanks for coming along. See you next chapter!</p>
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<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Chapter Twenty-Eight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Winter passed like a dream at sunset, scattered by the warmer, but still mild turning of Spring. Some locals referred to this time of year as Ostara, a term Striga hadn't heard until coming to Styria, and she was unsure what sort of people referred to it as such, only that they weren't Christians. Not that it mattered, really, only in so much as it is the term Morana had used when she discussed the two of them taking a particular night off for themselves. "I think it a prettier word than Equinox." she had explained with a smirk and a lilt of her head. "But it means a longer night, and more time for <em>us</em>."</p><p>Putting it like that, Striga could hardly refuse, not that she would have in any case. Anymore, saying no to Morana had becoming mostly impossible. Which isn't as terrible as it sounds. Sometimes it worried Striga to know how helpless she was to her good lady's whims, and she wonders if her devotion would ever turn on her, but it's a little thing that is gone as quickly as it comes.</p><p>Striga had a couple nights to consider what sort of evening they would make for themselves, and thinks to make something of an event out of it. Her lessons with the archivist had been hard but productive these last few months, and now they were able to carry full conversations in Arabic with minimal trouble. Striga is confident that maybe, just maybe, it would be the perfect opportunity to give Morana her gift -which, admittedly, had turned into something more as time went by. Normally the bundle of nerves the idea stirs in her would ward Striga off, but now it makes her all the more certain that it's time.</p><p>Then there is a sort of mental whiplash that threatens to unravel everything when Morana says she has already made arrangements for the night. Striga knows she shouldn't have been surprised, not really, not when your lover is the kind to make lists in her sleep and lay plans that can be months in the making. Not when your lover is the sort of peerless genius that she is. But that surprise gives way to calm rather quickly. All isn't lost, she could still make this work.</p><p>Striga puts extra effort into her preparations. She bathes and bothers to wash her hair, tying it back in a half tail. She puts on a little sandalwood oil simply because she knows Morana would like it. She wears the wine-red, short sleeved tunic that Morana loved to see her in and relatively newer, less faded trousers. She felt good, thought she looked good, and that gave her a certain confidence as she left her chambers to join her good lady. She tries to ignore the fluttering of her heart as she goes.</p><p>On her way Striga can't help but wonder why they weren't sharing a room yet. Was is not proper? Did it matter? Maybe they could discuss it later tonight...especially if everything goes well. So long as Striga didn't embarrass herself, she thinks it is certainly possible.</p><p>Morana's smile when she answers the door is bright and full of teeth, and Striga is quick to reciprocate before gathering her up in her arms. Straightening a little further has Morana's feet off the floor, but she's perfectly pliant and at ease in her lover's secure embrace. In the next instant she's giggling as Striga tucks an arm behind her knees and deftly maneuvers her into a proper carry.</p><p>"What have you in store for us tonight, my lady?"</p><p>"In a moment." Morana is laying against her, her head turned to Striga's collar where she nuzzles and takes a deep breath through her nose. "You smell wonderful."</p><p>Striga smiles with a soft chuckle. "If I had known it would hold your attention so surely, I would have forgone wearing it."</p><p>"Nonsense, I am not distracted." Morana gave a playful pat to the middle of her broad chest. "Now kiss me, and <em>then</em> I shall tell you my plans."</p><p>Naturally Striga is more than happy to oblige, and does so with a particular eagerness and heat that leaves Morana looking a bit dazed -but in a pretty, happy way. Striga can't help but laugh at her just a little as Morana struggles to form a coherent sentence for several seconds.</p><p>"We could always <em>change</em> plans," Striga suggests with a smirk and a waggle of her eyebrows.</p><p>"No, <em>no</em> ," Morana insists, getting the last of the giggles out. "Well...maybe later, but for <em>now</em> , we shall eat, I have even provided that Bavarian beer you like, and we shall have a game of <em>shatranj</em> where I will surely, at long last, emerge victorious."</p><p>Sable brows rise. "Oh, well then, if my lady is so certain." And she nods, still grinning, and starts across the room with Morana still in her arms. "Suppose we should begin so you have ample time to gloat? Unless, of course, you mean to carry on until after sunrise, which I will still happily indulge you, I just wish to know ahead of time."</p><p>Another harmless swat to the collar bone and a giggle. "You are in a terribly pleasant mood tonight, my dear."</p><p>"Shouldn't I be?" and then she gives Morana a quick kiss on the lips, a roguish but honest thing, before setting her gently down on the chaise she usually occupies. "Is an evening with you not cause for happiness?"</p><p>"I'm not saying that." There's the littlest flush in Morana's face. "It's just...something different."</p><p>"Hmm. I'll admit, I do have a particularly good feeling about tonight, not that I can explain why," Striga lilts her head as she sits on the chaise across from Morana, "perhaps that's it."</p><p>"Well, in any case, hopefully it will not ruin your good mood when I beat you."</p><p>"There are very few things you could do to ruin my mood, my lady, and I doubt this will be one of them."</p><p>Their dinner spread is modest and can fit easily on the table between the chaises alongside the <em>shatranj</em> board, so it isn't much a distraction to eat and play at once. They slip into their usual quiet comfort too easily to notice, at least at first.</p><p>Striga finds her attention lingering on it as the night goes on, savoring the comfort of her good lady's company as she unconsciously smiles to herself. It's something she loves about Morana, about how she makes her feel like she belongs; wherever Morana is, Striga knows she is welcomed and wanted. Even if they simply occupy a space together, perhaps invested with their own, separate business and don't even speak for several hours, Striga did not consider the time wasted in the least, not when you can merely meet your lover's eyes across the room and feel connected. Like their hand rests so gently around your heart, like Striga feels it does now. Yes, Morana's eyes are filled with a certain sinister glee, her mind turning in its cunning fashion, but there is love there as well. So much of it.</p><p>"It's your turn, love."</p><p>Striga blinks, adoration broken, and she nods without a word, unsure if it would have manifested properly if she had tried to speak. She looks at the board, how the pieces are differently arranged now -briefly puzzled because she hardly remembers moving her own pieces- and then takes a moment to think before making a move. It's too early to know if that was the right choice, but Striga is having difficulty caring. Not that she means to sit back and just <em>let</em> Morana win, but she certainly isn't nearly as invested in the game as she is her good lady. Which is just fine.</p><p>"Is everything all right?"</p><p>"Hm? Yes, why?"</p><p>"You don't seem very present, is all."</p><p>Striga hums and again smiles, a soft and comfortable thing with half a fang showing. "Suppose you demand a great deal of my attention, if not all of it." The smile widens when Morana's face reddens a little. "And," she weighs the sudden idea for all of a second, "there is something else."</p><p>"Oh?"</p><p>"If you win, I'll tell you about it."</p><p>Morana's expression morphs into a strange commingling of intrigue and surprise. "Then you understand that I now have no other choice but to destroy you?" because she <em>has to know</em>.</p><p>"Like you did last night?" recollection brings a dull but delightful thrum to her heart. A part of her is a little embarrassed at just how effective wearing a blindfold had been.</p><p>"You weren't complaining then."</p><p>"I am not complaining now." a throaty chuckle. "But those are my terms."</p><p>"Then I accept." Morana declares with confidence, then giving Striga a gleaming look, one daring her to make the next move.</p><p>For the remainder of the game, which would encompass a few hours, Striga couldn't decide if she spent more time minding the board and her strategy, or watching Morana play. There's a delightful edge to her attention bordering on hyper-focus, a gentle and studious knit to her brow, and it makes Striga smile -something she doesn't even realize she's doing until her cheeks start to ache. She thinks if that's the greatest pain she will face tonight, she will happily accept it. Because to lose this game will be nothing at all; she doesn't mean to win, this is more so to see just how badly Morana wants whatever she thinks Striga is keeping to herself. As it stands, she seems to want it rather terribly, which only makes Striga's heart flutter. Though she gives but a second to the thought of whether or not Morana still would if she knew what it was. As silly as that might be.</p><p>Now the beer is gone, what little food remains is cold, and there are but half a dozen pieces left on the board. Striga's <em>shah</em> has a single knight to protect it, which isn't necessarily the worst situation to be in, but Morana's remaining pieces include her queen which all but guarantees her eventual victory. By Striga's reckoning, her knight would be taken on Morana's next turn, which would just be theatrics at this point, yet throwing up her hands felt...almost insulting. She doesn't think her good lady would find the same satisfaction if she simply conceded, so she chooses to fight on, if only for one more turn, and moves her <em>shah</em> over one space.</p><p>For the first time since the game began, Morana lifts her eyes and meets Striga's gaze across the board. Her expression is neutral but strangely intense, and it's like she is silently asking for Striga's certainty about her move. Striga says nothing, but gives the littlest smirk at the corner of her mouth, which is answer enough, she thinks. Then Morana smiles as well, a slow, luxurious and satisfied thing.</p><p>She overcomes Striga's knight with her queen, leaving her lover's <em>shah</em> nowhere to go. Morana sighs, content as she clutches the carved piece in her hand and regards it briefly. "At last." she says, more so purrs.</p><p>"It only took you four months." Striga says flatly, but with an air of playfulness.</p><p>"Oh, but it was worth it to feel <em>this good</em>." then, after a second, that contented grin shifts to a sort of curious amusement. "Has it really been that long since we began playing?"</p><p>Striga hums and nods, stretching and still smiling. "Give or take. Doesn't feel so long, does it?"</p><p>"It...does and doesn't. I know that seems strange but," Morana considers what she says and what might have followed, weighing the carved knight in her hand.</p><p>"It's almost as if it has always been this way, doesn't it? In a sense?"</p><p>"...Perhaps. It's hard to describe." She appears to think about it a moment more, then buzzes her lips with a dismissive wave of her free hand before setting the knight back on the table, alongside all of the other pieces she had taken. "But that is a conversation for later. <em>Now</em>," she's smiling again, intrigued, "it is time for you to keep your word, my love."</p><p>"That it is." Striga tucks her chin, reflexively attempting to hide her face when she feels heat in her cheeks. Her heart is doing something too, it's nervousness though she refuses to call it that. She stands up from her chaise with another, smaller stretch, and then half steps around the table, standing at the end of it before reaching out her hand. "Walk with me?"</p><p>Morana looks back at her, silent and with brows uneven with puzzled curiosity.</p><p>"I wish to give you the gift I have been promising, and I feel it deserves a certain," she smirks and thinks and tries not to stutter, "atmosphere."</p><p>Morana still says nothing, but realization and delight flicker brightly across her face as she eagerly takes Striga's hand and lets her lead them out of the room.</p><p>The walk is a mostly quiet one. Morana's mind hums with thoughts as to what this is all about, what Striga might be thinking. She has a sense of how her lover feels, feeling Striga's pulse under her hands as she grips that hefty forearm in the same way she always has. It's fast but steady.</p><p>"May I ask what you are so nervous about?" the inquiry is soft, doesn't so much push as it just hangs in the air between them.</p><p>"I wish I wasn't." Striga answers quietly, like it's a dirty secret. "I just...this is important. You deserve for it to be perfect."</p><p>Morana tries to catch a glimpse of Striga's face, to see more than what she hears lingering in her voice. Striga catches her before she can make anything out of it, her expression now clear of anything other than a quiet, comfortable if somewhat hesitant smile. Morana returns the gesture, of course, and inches a little closer until she can rest her head on Striga's plump bicep for a few steps.</p><p>"I'm sure it will be."</p><p>Striga takes a deep breath and sighs. "Your faith in me is unshakable." And it's one of the myriad of things Striga loved about her.</p><p>Morana finds a token of understanding when Striga directs her up the winding staircase to the tower -<em>their</em> tower. Of course, it alludes nothing to what Striga's gift entails, but she ventures to guess it is something rather personal. Something uniquely of <em>them</em>. That just baits her curiosity that much harder, she almost can't stand it.</p><p>The air is still when they reach the platform, the early Spring night quiet and cool. They walk to the edge, the same one as always, and Striga sits first that she might help Morana do the same. Striga settles against the base of the arch, letting one leg dangle over the side and gesturing with both big hands for Morana to come in closer, to be held. Morana takes a moment to admire the way the ivy and the intense azure blossoms frame Striga's head before settling against her chest. The scent of sandalwood mingles with the floral blooms and she wants to disappear in it.</p><p>"It really has only been a few months for us, hasn't it?" Striga says after a long stretch of quiet. "I think I better understand what you said before, how it feels longer and yet...doesn't. Though I'll be damned if I can describe it, either."</p><p>They share a little laugh.</p><p>"I feel as though I have loved you forever." Striga continues, putting a gentle, lingering kiss to the top of Morana's head, taking in the jasmine. "That I could love you longer still."</p><p>"As do I." Morana responds on a long, relaxed exhale. She's trying not to focus too much on the quick and loud <em>thump-thump-thump</em> of her lover's heart, knowing it would push her to hurry Striga along -she doesn't want to spoil this for either of them, but her curiosity is <em>gnawing</em>.</p><p>Striga's breath catches for a split second, a sign of her gathering her courage, and then she makes the words come. "Do you remember that night when you read poetry to me?"</p><p>"Of course I do, it was wonderful." Morana chuckles. "And I remember being so confused when I woke up in my own bed."</p><p>"I had considered putting you in mine, just for the sake of the look on your face, seeing as you would have slept in it before I did."</p><p>"Thank you for sparing me that embarrassment, my love. But what brought this up?"</p><p>"You shared your favorite poem with me. Could you recite it again?"</p><p>"In Latin?"</p><p>"No, please, use your mother tongue. I like hearing it."</p><p>Striga focuses intently on the words, feeling comfort settling in as each one enters her mind and smoothly translates with all the ease of breathing. It grounds her, helps soothe her heart into a relatively slower pace, and fills her with a confidence she hadn't been able to find before. Though it wavers a little when Morana goes quiet, having finished. She gives herself a few seconds, to swallow and make sure her thoughts are all together and in the right order.</p><p>"<em>It still surprises me to know something so heartfelt was written by a man</em>." and her pulse kicks up again as she waits for a response.</p><p>Morana doesn't seem to notice, giving a little laugh as she casually responds, still in Arabic, with "<em>I know</em>."</p><p>"<em>Did he have many male contemporaries in his time</em>?"</p><p>"<em>I am certain he did</em> , <em>but I</em>-" she abruptly stops, and Striga can feel the tiny tension in her body for the whole split second it's there. Morana pushes herself to sit up straight and looks at Striga, decidedly puzzled. She looks to stop and start a number of times, her mouth beginning to form words that vanish and reappear but don't readily emerge.</p><p>Striga just sits patiently, a touch of amusement turning the corner of her mouth, steadily growing until it's an honest smile with fangs showing.</p><p>Then, finally, after all that, Morana manages a bewildered and breathy "<em>What</em>?"</p><p>"<em>Did I misspeak</em>?"</p><p>Morana seems to start, a tiny jolt of fresh surprise with her hand coming up only part way, the reflex to cover her mouth stopped. Which is good, because then Striga wouldn't have been able to watch her smile. "<em>How long have you been</em>..."</p><p>"<em>One of the archivists has been giving me lessons for the last few months</em> . <em>Do you approve</em>?"</p><p>Striga is certain she says yes, but that isn't all she says, and what comes tumbling out of Morana's mouth is a tirade of words. It's fast, frighteningly so, faster than Striga has ever heard her speak before. From what Striga is able to grasp, surely she must be ecstatic.</p><p>"<em>Please</em> ,  <em>my lady</em> , <em>slow down</em> , <em>I</em> ' <em>m not so fluent as to keep up with you like this</em>." Striga laughs and gently takes one of her hands and holds it in hopes of gently pulling Morana back down.</p><p>"<em>Why</em> <em>did you do this</em>, <em>my love</em>?"</p><p>"<em>I hoped it would make you happy</em> ." it was the only explanation Striga had, and thinks it's the only one she really needs. " <em>Surely that is reason enough</em> ? <em>And it is no less than you have done for me</em>."</p><p>Morana laughs, a broken, half stable thing, like she's about to burst into tears. "<em>This is so wonderful</em> ." She smooths her other hand over Striga's holding tightly. " <em> <b>You</b> </em> <em> are wonderful</em> . <em>And the sound of you</em> , <em>I wish I could wrap your voice around me</em> ." Because it sounded velvety and soft and perfect, as if Striga had always been meant to use the language, or that it had been crafted across centuries with her in mind. " <em>Oh</em> , <em> the conversations we can have now</em>,"</p><p>Striga nods. She hadn't the great wealth of words or tongues as Morana, but she had enough to understand the struggle that using them could be at times. Some things simply didn't translate, and some languages had better, more efficient ways of convening thoughts and purpose than others.</p><p>"<em>There is also</em> ... <em>something I would like to say to you</em> , <em> and I thought, this way</em> , <em> it would carry its proper weight</em>."</p><p>"<em>Of course</em>."</p><p>Striga can feels the nerves sprouting up again, and takes a quick breath to push them back down. She spares a thought to Morana's favorite poem, as she had for the last few months as she carefully crafted something resembling an answer to it. It's hardly poetry, and Striga knows it, but it's honest.</p><p>"<em>I have made a space in my heart for you</em> , <em>so only you might dwell there, with no room for any other</em> . <em>You are my ecstasy and my oblivion</em> , <em>and my love for you is</em> , <em>just as you are</em> , <em> without equal</em> . <em>There are so many words in your language for love</em> , <em>yet I only need one</em> . <em>It is your name</em> , <em>as the two are indistinguishable in my heart</em> . <em>I have never wanted anything more</em> , <em>in my whole life or afterlife</em> , <em> than to simply be at your side</em> . <em>You have become my home</em>,"</p><p>Striga can't help but stop as Morana's eyes widen and she takes a whisper of a breath. There's more to say, more she wants to tell her and a request that haunts her thoughts like church bells and she's hoping against hope that Morana doesn't realize that her hands are shaking.</p><p>"<em>You have become my home</em>, <em>and it only seems right to show my eternal gratitude by asking you to be my wife</em>. <em>If you would have me</em>, <em>my heart is yours eternally,</em> <em>until we are united in Hell, even after</em>."</p><p>Finally, it was out. It had been spoken into being and given in offering to whatever judgment Morana might pass. Though Striga's hope of something gentle dwindles as the seconds tick by without anything more than Morana's silence and her wide eyes. Maybe this was wrong...oh mercy, it was, wasn't it? She should have found a way to discuss this with her first, or maybe she shouldn't have considered it at all. No, why on earth would Morana want to <em>keep</em> her? A heathen? She could learn a <em>thousand</em> languages and still not be good enough for-</p><p>"<em>You really mean all of that</em>?" it's cracked and tight and unsteady, everything Morana's gaze isn't.</p><p>Striga feels the tension that had crept into her body loosen, she can breathe again, not realizing she had stopped. "<em>I do</em>."</p><p>"<em>Then</em> , <em> please</em> , <em> ask me properly</em>." Because this feels too much like a dream and if she doesn't hear the right words in the right way, she won't be able to believe it.</p><p>No hesitation. "<em>Would you marry me, Morana</em> ?" Oh mercy, now Morana certainly <em>is</em> going to start crying, and Striga feels a streak of panic.</p><p>Morana holds her breath, acknowledges the pressure of her pulse building in her throat and the gathering heat in her eyes of impending tears. It takes her a moment to catalog all of these feelings, the way they're trying to manifest, and hold them at bay -at least enough to speak. "<em>Would it make you happy</em>?" It is crucial that she know for sure; as much as she wished to simply say yes, Morana needed to know Striga wasn't just asking for her sake. She needed to know if Striga could be selfish enough, even if it was just this once, to put her own happiness on -at least- equal footing with another's.</p><p>Striga exhales. "<em>More than I can say</em>."</p><p>Morana feels her heart break, but not in a way that hurts. Not irreparable sundering, but more akin to a moth emerging from its cocoon; transmutation into something beautiful that could no longer be contained. "<em>Then I will</em>."</p><p>For a reason she will never know, Striga feels surprised, felt it manifest across her face with wide eyes and high brows. She even asks "<em>Really</em> ?" and gets the notion that Morana thought it just as silly a question because she laughs and nods and throws her arms around Striga's neck. Morana even drives her answer deeper by saying <em>yes</em> again and again, each time in a different language and punctuated with a kiss, not stopping until Striga takes her tear streaked cheeks in both hands and holds her still to kiss her soundly on the lips.</p><p>When Morana appears to compose herself enough, the two of them now facing each other with the good lady sitting on her heels, Striga's gaze drops to her hand, one set of thick fingers pulling at the others. She removes her ring and gently but deliberately folds it into Morana's shaking hands. "Keep it, until we are properly wed at least, as a mark of my word."</p><p>"S-Striga, no, I couldn't possibly-,"</p><p>"You could, most certainly, as I am giving it to you."</p><p>"But," she's trying to suppress a fresh wave of tears, feeling like she's failing as she carefully wipes at her eyes. "It's your mother's,"</p><p>Striga's face softens as she uses one hooked finger to tip up Morana's chin, to get her undivided attention. "My love, you, and the thought of spending eternity together, is far more precious than any fleeting memory this bit of metal might stir in me." And, frankly, she thinks it a better fit for Morana anyway, doubly so in the coming days when she sees it secured to her wrist with a red ribbon.</p><p> </p><p>Carmilla is the first of their other sisters to find out. It hadn't been intentional either, as the three just so happened to pass in the corridor, and Carmilla jerks to a stop. "Morana, you've been crying," her icy eyes are wide and wary. "Why are you crying?" Then those eyes are on Striga, sharp as a blade, as her voice becomes. "Why is she crying, what have you done?"</p><p>Striga was quick to put up her hands as if surrendering and explain herself. It stills Carmilla's potential wrath, but doesn't exactly bring any sort of particular pleasure either, and what little she expressed felt...pushed. Then again, it <em>was</em> Carmilla, and when Morana asked for it, she gave her blessing. "I don't understand why you feel the need to," Carmilla said, "but this isn't about me." It's probably the closest she came to saying congratulations at the time.</p><p>Lenore, on the other hand, was openly and unashamedly thrilled. The shrill gasp she makes at the news is enough to rouse every last living thing in her room and set them all chittering and chattering en mass. She hugs them and kisses their cheeks and gushes on about "you're both so beautiful" and "it's just like a story book" until she simply must sit down.</p><p>"So when is the wedding?" Lenore's eyes are positively gleaming with interest and excitement.</p><p>In the moment where neither of them can manifest and answer, because, frankly, there isn't one, they look at each other with joint realization. There was still a considerable amount of work to be done.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>(II)</em>
</p><p>Late Spring made for easy travel and good time, in spite of a night of heavy rain. Four horses with a total of five riders come along the pass towards the palace in no noticeable hurry -there was plenty of time considering it wasn't even properly sundown yet.</p><p>Though the sky is burning a bright orange by the time they reach the main gates and someone calls out from the gatehouse demanding they identify themselves and state their business.</p><p>"Commander Welsh and party," comes the answer, "here on invitation to General Striga's wedding."</p><p>It takes a moment, but the gates eventually groan on their hinges to grant them entrance. Inside a host of human attendants wait, most of them meaning to take their horses to the stables, and one to escort them into the palace. Sameena has Welsh by the arm, and the other three -lycans all- line up shoulder to shoulder behind them both in a reflexive, protective way. Once inside, all of them have their heads on a swivel, taking in the absolute grandeur of the castle interior. Welsh was fairly certain none of them had been here before, and if she had ever done so herself, she couldn't remember.</p><p>Though Welsh didn't recognize any inch of this place, she recognized a scent that lingered throughout, and when the attendant had opened one of countless doors and showed them inside, she knew this was Striga's room. To her, all vampires smelled similar -not necessarily the same- and had a whiff of grave dirt on them in a way. The odor of cheated death. But then there are things that set them apart, like Striga had always been a unique mix of smoke and steel and leather. This space was choked with it, but there is something else, too, and Welsh wonders who it might be. If it's her friend's bride-to-be, she smelled rather lovely -books and bouquets and something else hidden beneath that, like an armed bear trap and just as vicious.</p><p>Before she can study the scent much further, there's the whine of hinges that a human would miss that draws all the lycans' attention. Striga comes striding through the door from the adjacent bathroom, half dressed with a towel in her hair.</p><p>She suddenly stops and blinks, appearing mildly surprised. "Oh, you're here,"</p><p>"That we are." Welsh nods and smiles, a look the cocks funnily in the next instant. "And you're up at this hour?</p><p>"I have yet to sleep. Couldn't." Striga shrugs but doesn't sound genuinely bothered, and continues across the room. "First time I haven't shared a bed in a while."</p><p>"Oh? The missus made ya spend the day before your weddin' alone? Didn't think you sort bothered with that tradition."</p><p>"I didn't either, but she thought it would...whet my appetite, so to speak."</p><p>"Aye, always figured that's what it was about." Welsh chuckles knowingly, crossing her arms and nodding. "Made it fun for Meena and I, sure enough."</p><p>Striga lilts her head as she now stands before her open wardrobe. "If I said it wasn't working, I would be lying."</p><p>"She got <em>deep</em> under your skin, didn't she?"</p><p>"The Devil himself could not dig so far down." and it sounds like anything but a burden. Almost a mark of pride. Striga is even smiling to herself as she pulls a tunic from the wardrobe and pulls it over her head. It's new, immaculate and white with bright, rich red embroidery around the sleeves and the collar and the hem. It's a distinctly Slavic design, traditional for weddings -or at least it had been when Striga was alive, and she had only seen one so... still, she thinks it's beautiful and that's what mattered. Her skirt is new too, sable black, even darker than her hair.</p><p>"Wearin' a dress then? Can't say I expected that." Welsh measures her up and down from where she stands. "But it suits you."</p><p>Striga smiles softly and nods. "I considered something more...military, but...I decided I wanted to feel like a bride tonight."</p><p>"Oh, and you look the part right proper."</p><p>"And thank you for coming, my friend. It means a great deal to me to share my happiness with you. With all of you."</p><p>Welsh tries to hide a little sniff, made it quick and painless. Sameena smirks at her. "There you go with that sentimentality again, and I haven't even had a drink yet. Speakin' of which, I got you a weddin' present. I asked whoever took my horse to make sure you got it."</p><p>"You know you didn't have to do that."</p><p>"Shut your face, I wanted to, though it ain't much. Just some of my home made hooch."</p><p>Striga hums in a pleased way.</p><p>"Now, there'll be food and drink at this little party of yours?"</p><p>"Of course."</p><p>"And food for Meena, seein' as she doesn't eat much meat?"</p><p>"Everything is taken care of, I promise. You all will have every comfort we can provide; in fact you and Sameena will be lodging here during your stay, and there are rooms for the others as well."</p><p>Welsh thinks to say something, possibly in protest, but Sameena is at her ear much quicker, whispering something that changes Welsh's demeanor rather suddenly. "All right, general, if you insist."</p><p>One sable brow peaks and a fang glimmers at the corner of Striga's mouth. "What did she say?"</p><p>"She thinks you have a nice bed. More or less."</p><p>"It <em>is</em> nice."</p><p>"You actually slept in it? Well," Welsh throws up her hands. "This Lady Morana must be something <em>awful</em> special if she got you to sleep in an actual fuckin' bed."</p><p>"Of course she's special." It's a playful quip. "And if you think the bed's nice, you should see the bath tub. In fact, I insist." and there's a sense of suggestion to the comment that Welsh recognizes and smirks at.</p><p>Interest flickers keenly across Welsh's freckled face. "Aye, I'm sure I smell somethin' ripe, don't I? Suppose we all got time to freshen up and change clothes, do we?"</p><p>"You do, the sun hasn't even properly set yet."</p><p> </p><p>But it has, surely enough, by the time a fresh bath has been drawn and they had all partaken in it. It's all but pitch black beyond the now drawn back drapes, the first stars peeking out of the indigo velvet of night. Striga's guests are cleaned up and groomed and in their finer clothes, attire Striga recalled having last seen at Welsh's own wedding. Everyone appears ready to move on when there's a quick, almost too quiet knock at the chamber door.</p><p>"Ah, Lenore, how nice of you to wait for permission before coming in," Striga teases, not a trace of malice to be heard.</p><p>"I'm <em>sorry</em>," she does her best to sound sincere around her hurry and excitement. "You can hardly blame me for my enthusiasm."</p><p>"I could certainly try." Striga smirks, watching her smaller sister all but glide across the floor. "What is that you have there?"</p><p>"I made it for you." she is all too happy to declare. "Now I <em>know</em> you and Morana didn't want much in the line of flowers, but I thought a <em>few</em> wouldn't be too terrible. You look spectacular, by the way."</p><p>"Thank you." Striga nods and drops her eyes to what looks to be a ring of blossoms between her sister's hands. "Those look like the blossoms on the ivy-,"</p><p>"From the tower, yes." Lenore finishes, eyes bright and smile sharp. "I know you and Morana spend a lot of time up there together."</p><p>"It's a very nice touch."</p><p>"I thought so too." She giggles and shimmies her shoulders as if to let some of her nervous energy out. "Now bend down here so I can put it on you."</p><p>"Oh. Alright," there had been a moment where she wasn't sure exactly what such a thing was for, but now it makes a great deal of sense. Then she straightens, acknowledging the gentle silken pressure of the flower crown. "How does it look?"</p><p>"It's absolutely <em>delightful</em>." Lenore gushes, hands folded together in front of her. "I made Morana's with roses, so there's a little but of you in her outfit as well."</p><p>"That's...incredibly thoughtful of you."</p><p>Lenore just smiles wider, wide enough to warrant a brief closing of her eyes. "I can't wait for you to see her. Oh, I just can't wait at <em>all</em>!"</p><p>Striga smiles and starts to say something, pausing when she hears a familiar grunt from over her shoulder. "Of course. Lenore," she takes a half step back, half turning, "this is Commander Welsh and her wife Sameena. Welsh, this is the Sister Lenore."</p><p>Lenore approaches on reflex, the diplomat coming out in full force as she preps a greeting. "At long last, I've heard so much about," then she pauses, and she and Welsh share an all too similar expression. "I hope I don't sound rude, but have we met, commander?"</p><p>"With all due respect, sister, I was thinking the same thing, though I cannae place where I've seen you before." and the two hesitate for several seconds, before Welsh extends a hand and Lenore receives it.</p><p>"From where do you hail, originally? By the tartan you're wearing, I would guess Britain?"</p><p>"East Britannia."</p><p>"Oh my, haven't heard it called that in <em>some</em> time, not since the Romans were kicked out."</p><p>"Indeed." Welsh just nods, still looking rather puzzled, maybe even unsettled. "You from those parts as well?"</p><p>Lenore actually stutters, albeit for only a second, and her eyes shift from Welsh to Striga and back again. "I would <em>love</em> to go into it further, but perhaps it would be better to wait until <em>after</em> the ceremony? Which reminds me," Now she's looking at Striga again, "it's best you wrap up your preparations. Morana was nearly ready when I left her, so,"</p><p>"Of course, thank you, Lenore. We will be on presently." And Striga watches her all but skip back the way she had come and leave. Certain she is gone, Striga returns her attention to Welsh, who still appears decidedly unsettled and more pale than usual. "What is wrong?"</p><p>"I'm serious," Welsh shakes her head slowly, eyes fixed on the door that's shut again. "I've seen her before, and I shouldn't be seein' her now."</p><p>"I don't understand."</p><p>Welsh stills, then her attention jerks back to the present when Sameena takes her arm and squeezes. "Sorry, probably just coincidence. Dinnae mean to put a damper on your big night."</p><p>"You haven't." Striga wants to push, but knows that tone of voice and knows the lycan means to drop the matter. "Though I might do it myself if I linger any longer. Let's go."</p><p> </p><p>Striga and Morana had come to the mutual agreement of a rather...subdued ceremony. Morana had no surviving family or even acquaintances she liked enough to invite, though she extended a quiet invitation to her shadows on the chance they would have the time and be in the area -naturally, Taubert was invited. Otherwise, her only desire was for her sisters to be present, as Lenore and Carmilla were the closest she had to family. And within the hour, Striga would be closer still.</p><p>Striga felt much the same, and even if her sisters hadn't so enthusiastically insisted on it, she would have invited Welsh anyway. With those things in mind, the ceremony and reception was planned around the expectation of a small gathering -roughly twenty in attendance in all. Carmilla had petitioned for something grand and lavish, explaining that "I simply <em>must</em> make your night special, Morana, because I want you to remember this forever. You know,"</p><p>"I will remember it, Carmilla, I assure you." had been Morana's exceptionally gentle decline.</p><p>Striga would be eternally grateful to Morana for her infinite patience in being able to talk Carmilla out of it.</p><p>"Then you will accept my wedding present, no arguments." Carmilla left no room for debate, not that Morana would at that point. Striga couldn't help but be a little apprehensive, as she had no idea what Carmilla's idea of a gift would be, all things considered. Suppose she would find out in time in any case.</p><p>Striga almost feels a little guilty when she finds comfort in seeing that Morana has yet to arrive; it's the nerves, she tells herself, and nerves are perfectly natural. <em>But I don't have anything to be nervous about. It's not like she'll say no...this was her idea anyway. She wanted a wedding, and I doubt she wanted it just to embarrass me. She's not that sort.</em> But it's still a wedding -her<em> own </em>wedding. When that isn't quite enough to settle herself, Striga tries the distraction of introducing Welsh to Carmilla, which goes smoother than she expects. Striga knew a number of vampires who had certain...biases against lycans, but was surprised to find Carmilla was not one of them. In fact, she seemed to genuinely like Welsh -as genuinely as someone like Carmilla could manage, anyway. Lenore stands just behind Carmilla, occasionally making eye-contact with Welsh, but looking to intentionally withhold from contributing for the time being.</p><p>When Morana enters the room, everything stops and all attention collapses onto her. She looks utterly stunning in a rich blue kaftan that reaches the floor and is threaded with shimmering gold and white embroidery, all of it reminiscent of her calligraphy work. Gold adorns her wrists and neck in intricately etched cuffs, and tenderly flickers around her eyes in delicately painted strokes. Her lips are stained a dark red, reminiscent of wine, and it pulls together the rich scarlet of the halo of roses resting on her brow, the edges of the silken petals so dark they're nearly black.</p><p>Striga has forgotten how to breathe and is helpless to do little more than stare with total adoration and awe. Morana meets her gaze from across the room and she swears she can feel her heart bursting.</p><p>"Sweet Jesus, is that her?" Welsh gasps softly.</p><p>"Yes. Come, she's been wanting to meet you." and all the while she hasn't been able to look away.</p><p>"Oh no, there'll be time for that after you've given that fine lady your hand, and don't you be makin' her wait a minute more less I kick your ass square this instant."</p><p>Striga smirks; she can hear Carmilla snickering over her shoulder and couldn't care less, because that sounds like a grand idea. Just to be clear, <em>not</em> the ass-kicking idea.</p><p>By most standards -especially royal ones- the actual ceremony isn't what one would call momentous. It's intimate, quiet even, but it seemed right all the same. Morana had never expected to actually marry, though she had entertained that dream a time or two in her lonelier days, but those figments had never been of anything extravagant. Surely even commoners had put together greater weddings, but it didn't matter. Morana is grateful to be having one at all, and it is beautiful and perfect just as it is. She thinks that, perhaps, the only reason she wanted one at all was for the sake of proper paperwork and a quiet love of ceremony in general. It offered a pleasant weight and legitimacy to this.</p><p>Whatever the reason, she is surely happy, and she makes sure to properly broadcast her joy with a beaming smile that seemed to light up the room. It's an expression she finds Striga readily returning as they come together before the queen, that alone being enough to make her happiness double over and swell in her heart.</p><p>"You look so beautiful." Morana whispers as Striga takes her hand.</p><p>Striga kisses her hand. "To look upon God's own face wouldn't fill me with the same wonder as you, my love." She wants to laugh when Morana's face goes dark and her eyes break away, if for no other reason than the raw joy of her mere presence, but manages to keep it back.</p><p>Thankfully Carmilla keeps the fanfare of calling everyone's attention to a minimum, leading with an efficient welcome and word of gratitude for their attendance. She does indulge in a little embellishment with her formal declaration as to why they are all here "My dearest sisters have humbled me with the great honor of joining them in marriage," but Morana seems to show no displeasure or annoyance. And if she wasn't put off by it, no one else really had reason to be either.</p><p>Their vows aren't what one might consider grandiose either, more so an approach to quality over quantity, weight over volume. They readily swear on their damned souls to forever be faithful and patient, to unashamedly love and trust one another, and to be an unshakable refuge for each other whenever the time should arise. A <em>home</em>.</p><p>Their vows close with "'Til we are united in Hell."</p><p>Morana returns Striga's ring at last, untying the thin ribbon that held it to her wrist these last couple of months before slipping it back onto her smallest finger. Striga had a ring for her as well, smiling knowingly, fangs on full display as she produces the band -made from melting down the coin Morana had given her that night so many months ago- and pushes it into place on Morana's little finger as well. A sign of honored words, of trust given and returned, immortalized in gold. It fits her perfectly.</p><p>Carmilla forgoes the typical tradition of opening the floor for objections, because there isn't a soul in the room that had <em>any</em> right to oppose this. And if there is, and they had the nerve to even <em>think</em> of uttering a single syllable, she would surely silence them.</p><p>"Now, with the power vested in me as the Queen of Styria," Carmilla looks from one sister to the other, her smile genuine if a little subdued, "I <em>insist</em> that you kiss your bride."</p><p>Striga doesn't wait another second, and immediately has her arms about her wife's -<em>wife</em>- waist and hauling her up against her chest, off of the floor, to soundly, enthusiastically kiss her. Her heart is pounding and she's so glad that is over and that <em>this</em> is just <em>beginning</em> and she loves the feel of Morana's hands in her hair, holding her in place -<em>mercy, I never want to let go and I hope she doesn't either</em>. She thinks she can hear applause from somewhere, but she can't be too sure with the hot dizziness that's starting to fill her head. Is this...this is happiness. It has to be, and Striga knows she has never been happier than she is in this moment.</p><p>She's convinced this euphoria is the cause for the dreamlike quality of the rest of the night, like her mind is trying to take it all in at once even though there isn't nearly enough room. If it weren't for Morana's presence at her side, her arm around her own, she fears she might just float away. Striga makes a point to regularly, at the very least, kiss Morana's hand, a way to ground herself. And they stay close throughout the night; even after they have sat down to dinner and their hands were busy with food and drink, Striga hooks Morana's ankle with her own beneath the table. Striga catches on to Morana doing something much the same, though with her eyes, and every time she catches her bride's blue gaze, she feels her chest swell with warmth and all sorts of unspoken but understood things.</p><p>The conversation around the table is varied and lively, countless stories shared back and forth. The other sisters spend a great amount of time verifying the many tales they had heard from Striga about Welsh with the woman herself, who is more than happy to confirm and elaborate on most of them. "You see, the good general here tends to downplay just how often I was <em>naked</em> when these things happen. Otherwise she's spot on the truth." After several such stories, Morana finds out that Sameena is fluent in Greek, and the two spend the rest of the dinner mostly speaking with each other. Striga doesn't mind in the least, Morana appeared to enjoy the conversation, and she knows Sameena is as well -feeling welcome had always seemed difficult for her, even after her marriage. Welsh noticed it as well and appeared just as pleased and content to let her be.</p><p>Striga also notices that not another word passes directly between Lenore and Welsh through the rest of the night. She would ask her about it when she and Morana intend to retire.</p><p>"Is it something else you cannot tell me, little sister?"</p><p>"Not tonight, at least." is the entirety of Lenore's response on the matter, and it is a tired sounding sigh that suggested just how heavy that conversation may be when it finally comes about. "And good morning to you both."</p><p>Every time she had attempted to broach the matter to Welsh, she would ignore it entirely.</p><p>They eventually thanked Carmilla and tried to thank everyone else just for having attended, but at some point lost track of who they had and hadn't spoken to before deciding perhaps it was passed time to turn in.</p><p> </p><p>They are both tired, but it is a comfortable sort of fatigue. It had been a good night, wonderful, actually, so there is no displeasure in it. It almost feels natural, even earned in a way. Now they walk with no real hurry through the quiet halls, ignoring and being ignored by attendants going about the closing of all the drapes as dawn approaches. Striga follows Morana's lead, having yet to visit their new, shared chambers; she's eager, of course, but mostly to be alone with her wife -<em>mercy, </em><em><b>my</b></em><em> wife</em>. Every few steps they turn to look at one another and smile, perhaps share a quick kiss without disrupting their pace. When they reach the unfamiliar door, Striga waits for Morana to turn the key and just get it open before scooping her up in her arms and carrying her inside, Morana's resulting laughter something Striga hopes to remember forever.</p><p>This room is much smaller than their personal chambers, it is meant to be, but there is ample space for the essentials. This room wasn't intended for guests or meetings or any other such casual affairs, but for whatever private fancy its occupants chose to entertain. There is a big bed, of course, well made and stacked with fat pillows and fur blankets and with a sturdy wooden frame. The bathtub is large and shamelessly occupied the same space with naught more than a curtain to separate any occupants from the rest of the room. There is a small common table that's meant for two but could comfortably sit four, the top occupied by a few wedding gifts, and two rather large, plush chairs situated around the fireplace. For a moment Striga wondered what they needed two for, as one is certainly of the size for both her and Morana to comfortably occupy, which was the more likely arrangement.</p><p>Landscape paintings and filled bookshelves occupy the walls, just shy of looking overcrowded. One painting in particular caught Striga's eye, that of a winter forest scene fixed over the fireplace, and she grins at an arrangement of wooden animal carvings she remembers making herself on the mantle beneath it. They weren't particularly fine carvings, most of them an example of progress made and still to make, but they were all recognizable and charming in their own rustic way. She knew Morana had a particular fondness for them, so their inclusion in their sacred space was hardly surprising when she gave it proper thought.</p><p>"What do you think of it?" Morana asks when Striga sets her down near the small table.</p><p>Striga takes one last look around the room, and then gives Morana a soft, knowing look. "It's perfect."</p><p>"I'm glad you think so." And she truly is. It had, easily, been the most stressful thing about this endeavor, creating a place for both of them and the careful balancing of elements to allow them both to feel comfortable. It was a chance for Morana to display how well she understood her lover, their likenesses and differences, and it is a relief to know she succeeded. "So what for us now, my dear?"</p><p>"I'm partial to the idea of climbing into bed and holding you all day." Striga smirks and stretches. Then she's carefully, <em>carefully</em> pulling the halo of blossoms from her head. "Though I suppose we should spare a moment for our gifts first."</p><p>Morana lilts her head in a agreement. "I'm assuming this is some sort of alcohol, and that it is a gift from Welsh."</p><p>"Correct on both counts." Striga chuckles, setting the flowers down on the table.</p><p>Morana points a talon at the small wooden keg, her eyes wary. "Please tell me this isn't saddle beer."</p><p>"It is not." Another little laugh. "It's mead, and I think you will like it if you are of the mind for at least a little sip."</p><p>"I could be convinced, I don't believe I've had mead before."</p><p>"It's sweeter and a little fizzy. The only thing I've ever found myself blackout drunk on."</p><p>"Oh my." There's a mental image. "Still...suppose a <em>sip</em> won't hurt."</p><p>"That's something I've been curious about, now that you mention it." Striga's brow cocks unevenly, and there's still a touch of amusement to her expression. "Why did you begin abstaining so suddenly?"</p><p>Morana smiles, mostly to herself, feeling a touch of embarrassment. She takes a moment to do as her wife had done and lift the roses from her brow to place with a quiet reverence on the table. "Because I thought alcohol was making me a little too...forward with you. I didn't want to scare you off."</p><p>"Hm." Striga appears to think for a few beats, then nods with a sort of understanding. "I thought your sass was rather endearing, but I suppose that makes sense, all things considered. Although, if it is your wish to continue abstaining, I will oblige it."</p><p>"It's a small matter." Morana waves a dismissive hand and starts to remove her jewelry, carefully letting it rest in the nest of roses on the table. "Welsh is wonderful, by the way. She and Sameena."</p><p>"I thought you would like them."</p><p>"I do, very much so. Welsh is actually the first lycan I have met in person, at least that I was aware of, and she's rather something."</p><p>"She is. I am glad you and our sisters approve of her."</p><p>"What was it she was saying to you earlier? Before we excused ourselves?"</p><p>Striga takes a moment to laugh, pushing a hand through her hair while the other picks up a folded page of parchment from the table. "She demanded I name our children after her."</p><p>At first Morana didn't seem to pick up on the joke, blinking at her new bride and visibly puzzled. Then it seems to hit her and she smirks. "Is that so? And what did you say?"</p><p>"Naturally I agreed, all twenty of them."</p><p>"<em>Twenty</em>? Well, suppose we best get started then?"</p><p>"Well, we can certainly start <em>trying</em>,"</p><p>"Trying is my favorite part." and Morana cuts a toothy grin with a little waggle of her eyebrows, making Striga buzz her lips and roll her eyes. It's an expression that drops when she sees Striga's face morph from humored to curious. "What is it?"</p><p>Striga has had a chance to read whatever is written on the parchment, and regards it with a degree of surprise. "I think it's a deed."</p><p>Morana quietly rounds the table to stand beside her, craning her neck to have a look for herself. "You're right, my love. It looks like Carmilla has gifted us a parcel of land, we just need to sign this."</p><p>"Hm, interesting gift. Not sure what we would do with it."</p><p>"Aren't you? Just imagine a little hideaway of our own, tucked away in the wilderness somewhere. Just you and me?"</p><p>"...You have my attention." Which is wholly true.</p><p>"And it will make for a nice trip for us to go survey the property. Sounds terribly romantic, doesn't it?"</p><p>"My stomach is churning as we speak." Striga says flatly, her stony facade cracking with a grin when Morana playfully slips the deed from her big hand and gently admonishes her in Arabic. Something to the tune of "<em>Just come to bed</em>,<em> you cheeky shit</em>."</p><p>Striga understands perfectly and concedes.</p><p>There's a great and tender care in the way they undress one another. Slow, steady, adoring. They take care to not leave their clothes on the floor, draping them over one of the plush chairs instead. Then they seem to tangle together there beside their marital bed, perfectly bare.</p><p>"My wife," Striga whispers with a unique reverence, arms around Morana and their lips but a breath apart. "Do you wish for my love? My touch?"</p><p>Morana kisses her, deep and savoring, smiling. "I only wish for your embrace, as I am rather tired." She laughs breathily, as if there's a touch of embarrassment in the confession.</p><p>Striga hums and presses her forehead to Morana's, taking in the lingering scent of jasmine and roses. "Then you shall have it."</p><p>"Shall I have more kisses as well?" Morana asks hopefully.</p><p>"Of course. <em>Always</em>."</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Always and forever, 'til we are united in Hell.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><span class="u">Author's Note:</span> That's it. Might be a strange way to end it, but it still feels right somehow. I wanted to go for something clever and thematic, but it just...it's just this. Hopefully it's enough. All in all, the story is sound and probably one of my new personal favorites. And thanks to everyone who tagged along for the ride and made the effort to share how much they enjoyed it. Thank you all so much. It's been a hell of a year for all of us, and I hope I did at least a little something to make it a little easier to bear for some of you. Do I have any more plans to write for this fandom, this pairing? I'm thinking over some things, but it's hard to say for sure. We'll see. Take care everyone!</p>
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